


The Other Side

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Clan Denial, Foul Language, Friendship, Gen, Immortality, Kidnapping, Post-Canon, Pre-Immortal, Recovery, Richie Lives, Serial Killers, Starting Over, The Game, Watchers, headhunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-08 19:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: The one where Richie wound up being targeted by a serial killer and then rescued by Matthew McCormick.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Tazlet for Baltimore house description help.

_September 4, 2018  
_ _Baltimore, MD_

Matthew McCormick was sure he was chasing a long shot. The now-abandoned cold storage facility been a hive of activity just the week prior. Twenty victims had been found stored in the facility; identifying all of them was taking time. The only reason the victims had been found was because the serial killer had failed to pay the utility bill, and the smell had caught the attention of the rent-a-cop hired to guard the facility next door. Matthew told himself he was just being thorough, looking for some scrap of evidence the combined local police and FBI team had missed. He had thought he had felt a new immortal among the dead, but none of the victims had turned out to be that new immortal.

The facility was dark, but Matthew had brought a flashlight. He was halfway through the facility when a flash of immortal presence got his attention. Even as he wondered how someone had escaped being found during the intense search of the facility, Matthew moved quickly towards the source of the presence. In a small back room that looked like a break room for employees, complete with a dishwasher, sink, and steel refrigerator, Matthew heard thumping, as if someone was trying to get his attention. The refrigerator, dishwasher, and cabinets had been tagged with red tape, which meant someone had searched them and found empty.

Matthew’s heart sank as he realized the sound was coming from beside the refrigerator. Someone was in the wall cavity. Matthew felt along the edge of the wall, hoping to find a seam he could use. Incredibly, he found an edge of what felt like a sticker or wallpaper and pulled. The adhesive wallpaper, made to look like subway tile, peeled slowly, but revealed it had concealed a storage closet behind it. Someone had taped the door shut with duct tape, making it airtight.

Adrenaline surged through Matthew as he cut the tape and pulled the door open to find a red-headed, muscular man in his early twenties, wearing only a pair of jeans, a look of desperation on his face. His hands had been tied behind his back and his legs had been bound to his chest with rope, which explained why he could not break free sooner. A gag, complete with straps that went behind the man’s head, covered his mouth.

Kneeling, Matthew used the knife he carried to cut the thick rope, and he unbuckled the straps holding the gag in place.

“Please tell me you’re a cop,” the man pleaded as he gasped for air. “And not interested in my head.”

“FBI,” Matthew showed him his badge. “You are?”

“Perpetually fucking unlucky,” he declared, still panting. “Gonna die now.” The man slumped over, dead.

Matthew grimaced, suspecting the young immortal was new to the Game, when reviving took more effort. He carried the man out into the break room floor, where the air was cleaner, and he could use the room to check out if there were other reasons for him dying again. The man was solidly built for his medium frame and heavier than Matthew had first estimated. Matthew found no wallet in the other immortal’s pockets, only a key card for an extended-stay hotel. It wasn’t until Matthew laid the corpse flat he discovered the reason for his death: someone had driven an ice pick into the man’s heart. As the pick had been trapped between his chest and knees, every time he revived, he died again. Matthew pulled out the ice pick and waited.

Another gasp of breath soon rewarded Matthew's efforts. The stranger sat up, wincing reflexively in remembered pain. “Thanks for the rescue. Name’s Richie Ryan.”

“Matthew McCormick,” Matthew acknowledged. “You’re the immortal I felt last week.”

“I felt you too, but I thought for sure you’d find me. I got the ropes looser but that’s all I’ve been able to do. Kept dying before I could get far.”

“You saw who did this to you?” Richie took the hand up Matthew gave him and rose to his feet as Matthew did the same.

Richie nodded and swallowed past a dry throat. “Can I get some water first?”

“Of course; I have some in my car.”

Matthew led the way out of the facility to his car. Opening the trunk, he pulled out a bottle of water from the pack he kept there and handed it to Richie. Richie drank half it before pausing to breathe. He sipped the rest of it more slowly; Matthew handed him another bottle.

“You said you saw your attacker?” Matthew prompted, taking the empty bottle and putting it in his trunk; he would recycle it later.

“Yeah, this young couple.” Richie closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head at the memory. He opened the second bottle of water and took another few sips. “I thought they were super cool – she had turquoise hair and he had this amazing guitar setup. I met them because they had advertised a room to rent in their house. One minute, I’m standing there talking about move-in dates and receipts for the deposit I paid her and the next thing I know, they’re talking about killing me. I tried to get away, but he convinced her to tie me up, drug me so I couldn’t fight them, and put me here instead. He liked me, and I think he didn’t realize just how obsessed with killing she was. She killed him; kept telling me how she always knew he was more into men than into her. She’s warped in the head, man. I heard her talking about how she carved him up extra good, so no one would know who Django Blackwood was.”

“Did you get her name?”

“She said her name was Jolene Clark. The thing that stuck out for me was how I kept thinking her face looked like a giraffe’s and how it didn’t look right with her build, like someone pasted her head onto the wrong body. Only curves she had, too, were her muscles – she looked like she could bench-press me without blinking. Rest of her body was this one rectangular box.” Richie grimaced. “Made me think that was why her hair was turquoise. She had black roots, so it looked like it needed a touchup. She wore it in a braid, too, but the end of the braid hit just past her shoulders.”

“Do you remember how tall she was?”

“About two inches shorter than me, and I’m 5’10”. She was also tanned, like tanned brown not naturally brown, and it looked like a bad self-tanner sort of thing too. She missed spots.” He took a breath before adding, “And if you kill her, she’ll be one of us.”

Surprised by the amount of detail Richie provided, Matthew noted, “You sound like you had plenty of time to memorize what she looked like.”

Richie shuddered out a breath. “She had me tied up for a long time while she figured out how she would get rid of me. She figured out quick I wouldn’t stay dead, but she only thought I was a vampire like the ones she saw in _Twilight_ , only real because real vampires don’t sparkle and look like vampires.” He looked at Matthew, his face reflecting his disgust. “She told me she wanted to kill 21 people because 21 was her lucky number and she’d done everything else on her bucket list already. She liked to come and see the bodies she’d put in refrigeration. It was fascinating to her. She said since I was her last one, she would tell me everything, and that way, I’d take her secrets to my grave.” He shuddered.

Matthew reached out and gripped the other man’s shoulder reassuringly. “Not today, and I’ll make sure she is caught before she decides to kill someone else. She won’t be taking her career as a serial killer into immortality, either. Not if I have any say in it.”

Looking relieved by that, Richie nodded.

“Give me a minute and we’ll see about getting you out of here, okay? I want to call in what you told me, so we can get a profile started.”

Richie nodded again and started pacing, encouraging his body to shed the lingering remnants of lethargy he was feeling.

Matthew pulled out his phone and dialed his partner. “Yeah, Austin, it’s me. I just got an anonymous tip about our serial killer at the cold storage facility.” He repeated the description Richie gave him.

“You got all that?” Austin said, impressed. “Hell of a tipster there.”

“We have a witness; I’m working on convincing them to come forward.”

“You do that; I’ll run this info through the database,” Austin promised, and disconnected the line.

To Richie, Matthew asked, “Did you want a ride to see if your stuff is still at your hotel room?”

“If it’s not too much trouble. She was pissed I didn’t bring a wallet with me.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Richie offered him a rueful grin. “Because I was in a rush and didn’t grab it. I just grabbed the bus pass, my cell phone, some cash to cover the deposit she had named on the phone, and my room key and figured if they really wanted more money, I could get it to them later. She was hoping to steal my credit cards.”

Matthew smothered a laugh. “That would be one good reason to have been in a rush.” He studied the other immortal, sensing an innate resilience. “Would anyone be looking for you if you were gone?”

Richie shook his head. “Not unless I was gone for three months. My friends are used to me wandering the world for a while in between having a regular gig. I usually work to have enough money saved to do that.” He paused. “Did you find a short sword and a black leather jacket with a set of racing stripes on the left sleeve?”

“Yes, they’ve been entered as evidence, since we found blood on both. Were they yours?”

“Yeah, they were birthday gifts from a good friend.”

“I can make sure you get them back,” Matthew assured him. “This isn’t the first time you’ve died.”

Richie shook his head. “No. I’ve been in the Game a while.” He rubbed his shoulders, shivering a little as his body adjusted to the temperature in the room. “How late is it anyway?”

“About seven o’clock. It’s Tuesday, September 4.”

“Damn it, that means I’ve been gone two weeks. Hopefully, the tip I gave the hotel owner means he didn’t toss my shit.”

Matthew took a breath. Richie was not the first-time immortal Matthew had suspected he would find, but he had information Matthew was not willing to lose, either. “I’ll take you to the hotel.”

* * *

A short drive later brought them to the extended-stay hotel on the northern edge of the city. It was, as Matthew had expected, a tired, rundown facility, looking like it had seen better days when it was first new.

Richie stepped into the lobby of the hotel, Matthew following. To neither’s surprise, Richie had lost the room; they had tossed his belongings.

Richie waited until he and Matthew were out of the hotel before heaving a resigned sigh. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to let me crash with you? I promise I’m a clean and quiet housemate, and I’m not looking for a new teacher. I don’t go looking for fights and I do my best to walk away from them when I’m challenged.”

“You don’t know me,” Matthew began.

“No, but I’d like to,” Richie countered. “You seem decent. If you wanted my head, you’d have killed me already. If you’re scheming to take it later, you’ll wait until you’ve gained my trust, and you don’t seem like the type. And I imagine you’ll want to know where I am for a little while at least.”

Unable to argue with that logic, Matthew studied the other man a moment. “How broke are you?”

“Broke enough that paying that bitch $500 cash for deposit means if I don’t find a job by the end of the month, I’ll have lost most of my savings. Before meeting her, I lost out on a nice apartment when the manager decided he didn’t want to rent to me, but I’d already put in $2000 on a nonrefundable deposit. I’ll get it back in ninety days, but that $500 I’ll never see again.” Richie looked at him. “If it’s too much trouble, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept outside. I spent a year traveling by motorcycle from Washington State down the coast to Mexico.”

“Did you also lose your motorcycle?”

“No, I sold it to pay for this trip; was going to buy another one when I had enough saved to not have to make loan payments.”

Matthew went with his gut; Richie did not seem the type to conspire with a serial killer who stored her victims in a refrigerated facility. Nor did he seem to be the opportunistic immortal who would take Matthew’s head in his sleep.

“How good are you at cooking?”

Richie grinned. “Good enough I sometimes work as a line cook if I can’t find a place to tend bar. I like meeting people.”

“Good. I hate eating and cooking alone.” Matthew smiled. “One room in exchange for two shared meals a week until you’re working enough to afford paying rent sound fair?”

In reply, Richie stuck his hand out and they shook hands on the deal before they got back into Matthew’s car for the drive to his house.

* * *

Matthew’s house was in old brick building in the Federal Hill neighborhood, which sat on the corner of the street, and was one of the rare detached houses in the neighborhood, with an even rarer attached garage. The garage was narrow, just big enough to fully open the doors of the sedan Matthew drove, but looked like it was big enough to hold another vehicle provided said vehicle was a subcompact or smaller. Cabinets lined the back wall of the garage. Three steps on the right-hand side of the garage led up into a combination pantry, mudroom, and laundry room. Stepping through another door revealed the main floor was one great room, with a passthrough, modern kitchen in the center, the living room in the front, and the dining room in the rear. A patio led off the dining room via sliding glass doors. The stairs up to the second floor were on the other side of the room and formed part of the first-floor half-bathroom. The second floor contained the two bedrooms, each with its own ensuite bathroom, and a third bedroom Matthew had set up as an office; the third floor was set up as a workout room and storage space. Once Matthew had completed the tour, they went back to the second floor. Matthew grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt out of his bedroom and handed them to Richie.

“The bathroom should have everything you need,” Matthew told Richie as they stepped into the guest room. “I’ll get you a copy of the key tomorrow. I’ll pay for groceries within reason; expensive ingredients will be discussed ahead of time. Until you’re working, I’ll also give you some cash, so you can feel like you can buy stuff for yourself without having to ask me all the time. No overnight guests without my permission; no drugs, excessive drinking, wild parties, or loud music between 9 pm and 6 am. I trust you to be an adult and clean up after yourself. That includes doing your laundry, vacuuming in this bedroom, and cleaning the attached bathroom.”

“Just point me to where you store your cleaning and laundry supplies. I’ll even wash the bed sheets when I do my clothes. What time do you get up in the morning?”

“Around 6,” Matthew replied. He studied the other man a moment, needing a question answered. “Is the short sword your primary weapon?”

Richie shook his head. “No, my backup. My friend thought I needed one.” He flashed a grin. “Who am I to refuse a beautiful, charismatic, and intelligent woman when she’s giving me gifts like that?”

Matthew smiled. “Someone you love?”

Richie laughed. “Not like a lover, more like a big sister who’d just as soon get me into trouble as she would get me out. I never had one of those growing up. I was a foster kid.”

“Do you need a sword?”

“If you have a decent-sized knife I can borrow, I’ll be okay until I can get to where I stored my extra stuff.” Richie grimaced. “Also, not the first time I’ve lost a sword.”

Frowning at that last statement, Matthew stepped back into his bedroom. He had never lost his sword in all the centuries he had lived; he still used the broadsword Ceirdwyn had given him in 1255. Still, the request for a long knife made sense considering the short sword Richie had lost, particularly if he was a close-quarters fighter. Matthew brought Richie a sheathed fourteen-inch Bowie knife. “Let me know if this will be enough.”

“Thanks.” Richie checked out the knife, careful to point it away from Matthew. The way he held it and tested it told Matthew clearly that Richie had the skill to use it. Richie gave Matthew a brief smile of gratitude before sheathing the knife and setting it on the nightstand. “This will work.”

“Speaking of swords: if you need to practice sword fighting, please use the third floor or the back yard. If you need a place to fight someone, please avoid doing it here. If you wind up taking a head, let me know what I can do to help you with the aftermath.”

“Got it,” Richie said. “I usually go for a motorcycle ride or go dancing.” He shrugged. “It’s been nice not to have to carry a helmet and gear.”

“How long have you been in the Game?”

“Almost twenty-five years.” He paused before adding, “I don’t talk about who my teacher was, but if you need a reference, Amanda and Nick Wolfe will vouch for me. It’s been a few years since I worked for them, but they worry if they don’t hear from me every three months. I’ve been trying to find a place that fits, so I’ve been doing a bit of wandering the last two years.”

“That explains why you said your friends wouldn’t worry unless you were gone long enough.” He paused before asking, “Is your teacher dead?”

“No, just a magnet for headhunters. Easier for me not to mention him if I want to avoid the trouble he brings.”

Seeing Richie’s reluctance, Matthew nodded his understanding. “I’m not a headhunter, but I know my students would prefer I stayed out of their business. I can take your official statement tomorrow if you’re up to it, or we can leave it as anonymous if you’d rather stay out of the legal process.”

Richie grimaced. “Might as well get it over with,” he told Matthew. “I can’t be the only person she lured in with a cheap room to rent. If you’re okay with me saying I got away by playing dead vampire, then the rest of it is easy.”

“I can live with that,” Matthew told him. “Are you hungry? I was going to make dinner.”

“If it’s not too much trouble to make an extra plate, sure, and I’ll wash dishes in exchange. I’ll be down in about fifteen minutes.”

He took twenty, but Matthew didn’t mind, since it allowed him time to cook pork chops and noodles in a creamy mustard-and-mushrooms sauce. Richie entered the kitchen. “Smells wonderful. Do you need a hand with anything?”

“Set the table please? Plates are in the cabinet to the left of the stove and silverware’s in the drawer to the right of the sink.”

Once they had eaten more than half of the meal, Matthew asked, “What made you come to Baltimore? And where were you before?”

“Paris, France, then Washington State,” Richie said. “Grew up in Seacouver. Got the bright idea I’d start over there, now that I’m older and wiser than when I left. Forgot how much it’s a magnet for headhunters looking for a Highlander. Thought Baltimore would be better.”

“You had a job lined up?”

Richie shook his head. “Nah, I usually wing it. Figured I’d bartend a while, get familiar with the city. Did that in Paris at Amanda’s club before I moved back to the States. I’ve also repaired motorcycles and worked construction, so I’m pretty open.”

Matthew grinned briefly, imagining Amanda would have adopted the young immortal. He could see, too, where she would gift him with a short sword; her gifts were always the right thing for the right person. “Did Amanda try to convince you to help her more than just be a bartender?”

Richie barked a laugh. “Yeah. I’ve known her long enough to know how to say ‘no,’ but she got me into so much trouble when I was younger.”

“Sounds about right,” Matthew said. “How long did you work for Amanda?”

“About six years; left because I needed a break and I was missing home.” He grimaced. “That was a mistake. I’d forgotten how Seacouver and me means a whole lot of me getting unlucky. Oh well, at least this time, I only lost some clothes.” Deliberately, he steered the conversation to a less fraught topic.

“Hey, so have you been an FBI agent a long time? This is a nice place.”

“Probably too long,” Matthew admitted. “But I’ve only been in this city for nine years this time. This place was a renovation gone wrong – the previous owners tried to do too much on their own and finally gave up. I got to turn it into something I wanted.”

“Let me guess: someone wanted high-end finishes and forgot you need basic plumbing and carpentry skills?”

Surprised by that comment, Matthew asked, “How did you guess?”

“Renovated an old house from the ground up; learned how to do everything,” Richie said briefly. “On the bright side, knowing those skills has meant I’ve been able to work pretty much everywhere.”

“Good skills like that haven’t stopped being needed, no matter how much technology advances,” Matthew agreed. “Is there something you like doing in particular?”

“Long as I’m meeting people, making them happy, isn’t illegal or immoral, and I’m getting paid fairly and being treated with respect by my employer, I’m not too picky.” Richie ate the last of his dinner before adding, “I’ll probably tire of living like that someday, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

Despite having been kidnapped by a serial killer, Richie’s enthusiasm for a simple life, well-lived, seemed unflappable. Matthew marveled at his resilience. “If I can be of any help, let me know.”

Richie nodded. Noting Matthew had finished, he asked, “Okay if I take your plate and clean up?”

“Sure.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rhi for the beta read and brainstorming. Chapter One has been slightly edited as a result.

Since the dishes were not enough to warrant using the dishwasher, Richie decided to do them by hand. Matthew appreciated his initiative; though he had become accustomed to using a dishwasher, he was not fully convinced they were the energy-saving devices they had been initially advertised to be. Once the dishes were in the drainer, Matthew and Richie split the load, drying them, and Matthew pointed out where everything was kept.

“You going to be okay to sleep alone tonight?” Matthew asked when they had finished. “I won’t think less of you if you wanted someone to keep you company. I’m not interested in you for sex, so if that’s the thing you want, I’ll respectfully decline.”

“Appreciate it, but –” Richie took a deep breath. “If you don’t mind letting me watch TV until I fall asleep, I’ll be fine tonight. Much as I’d like to pretend otherwise, it’s not the first time someone’s kidnapped or tried to kill me or both.”

Matthew looked at him, surprised by that statement. “You’ve been targeted before?”

Richie groaned. “Oh yeah, so much I lost count. Once, a woman bought into the fake identity I was using and thought I was a rich man, so she kidnapped me for ransom.” He shook his head. “Got good at getting out of handcuffs and ropes, but this time, I couldn’t stay alive long enough to contort myself. I had the world’s worst luck my first few years as an immortal.”

“But your life has gotten better since then?”

“Mostly.” He smiled ruefully. “Last few days hasn’t felt like it.”

“Understandable under the circumstances. My door’s open if TV doesn’t do it. Sometimes talking helps.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. Nick got me to see a therapist in Paris; he was worried about me acting like everything was fine when it wasn’t.” He met Matthew’s concerned gaze, looking more like a man of his chronological age than the twenty-something he appeared to be. The look of haunted knowledge on his face made Matthew’s heart ache, wondering just how often he had been hurt and why. “I don’t fall apart right away; it usually doesn’t hit me until after I feel safe enough to relax.”

“Happens,” Matthew agreed. “Not everyone handles stress like what you’ve been through the same way. Let me know how I can be of help.”

“I will,” Richie promised.

Matthew spent the next few minutes showing the younger man how to work his entertainment system before excusing himself to go upstairs. He showered and changed into pajamas, then used the computer in his home office to check his work email, get updated on the serial killer case, and connect with the NCIC database. Austin’s email indicated that their boss wanted to know how Matthew had managed to get such a detailed description from an anonymous source and would like a conversation in the morning before the profile was released for distribution. Matthew sighed; his boss had risen in the ranks as an accountant and kept expecting the fieldwork in which Matthew and his fellow agents took part to somehow match a balance sheet. Ignoring that problem as something he would deal with in the morning, Matthew turned his attention to the NCIC database.

Trust but verify had been one of Matthew’s guiding principles for a long time. Guessing at Richie’s birthdate, Matthew entered what he knew about Richie. His query resulted in several hits, all arrests with no convictions, all from the late 1990s. Interpol had a record on him, as did the FBI. The notes on the files showed they had been manually entered after the database had been created, meaning that any further investigation would require contacting the arresting office for the physical files. Matthew studied the data and concluded Richie had, at some point, lost his sword, and been either sloppy with hiding the evidence of a fight or been framed for murder or some unfortunate combination of both. Nothing in the database indicated Richie was a recorded threat. Matthew suspected Richie’s record was full of the kind of mistakes a new-to-the-Game immortal might make, especially if they had a teacher who had let them go without covering those topics. It aligned with what Richie had said about having a bad few years as a new immortal. Satisfied by that, Matthew set his query to record as a low-level inquiry so that it would not flag Richie’s record as something warranting a follow-up and disconnected from the database.

Matthew sat for a moment, wondering who Richie’s teacher was. It wasn’t Amanda – of that, Matthew was certain. The way Richie spoke of her made Matthew think he had met her after he had met his teacher. One of the Highlanders was likely, then; Seacouver narrowed it down to Duncan.

Logging off his work account, Matthew considered his next steps as he opened his personal email. He had Duncan’s email and phone number, since he considered him to be a friend, though, in the last decade, not a close one. Duncan, along with his cousin, had retreated from the world in the early 2000’s; rumor held that they had needed a break from being targets one and two on the headhunters’ list. Contacting Duncan would give him the immediate confirmation he wanted, but if Richie was running from his teacher or from the elder Highlander, Connor, for valid reasons, Matthew could be putting the younger immortal in danger. Matthew did not want to do that.

Calling Amanda would likely result in Matthew getting precisely the answers he already knew: that yes, she and Richie were friends, he had worked for her for six years, and that she was delighted to hear that Matthew had become acquainted with him. That wasn’t the answer Matthew wanted, so he emailed his first student instead.

Cory had, over his nearly eight centuries alive, cultivated a who’s who of immortals. It meant he knew who to prank, how to prank them, and how to do it so the most punishment he received was a scolding not to do it again. He was a rapscallion and a lifelong thief, and Matthew loved him like a son. Matthew had only been half a century old when he’d taken on his first student, but he had spent several years training him, making sure Cory knew how to thrive, not just survive, and adapt to change.

Matthew texted him, “Did Duncan MacLeod teach a redheaded man named Richie Ryan?”

To his surprise, Cory called him immediately. “Yes, and you’d better make damn sure those two don’t meet again.”

“Why?”

“Pretty sure Duncan wants to kill him. He’s tried twice already that I know of, maybe more for all I know. I told Richie that my luck around Mac isn’t that great either, but then he told me Mac took a Dark Quickening. Richie almost died because he walked into the dojo at the wrong time. If a friend hadn’t shot Mac, Richie wouldn’t be alive. Richie also said Mac later got mad at him for playing the Game. Richie blames himself. Says if he’d been a better student, if he hadn’t trusted his teacher to handle all the fights that he’d been taking with no problems, he wouldn’t have a scar on his neck that’ll never heal.”

Matthew stared at his phone. “That’s ridiculous. Where was Connor?”

“Busy dealing with someone who made a damn good try at killing his daughter. You’ve met Rachel, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Is she all right?”

“Last I talked to her, yes, but she was in ICU and still under threat when Richie was hoping to get help from Connor. Connor wouldn’t leave her; Richie assumed he was on his own. If you mention Connor as being a good friend, he gets this weird smile, like he believes you but thinks you have no idea of the truth. If you mention Duncan, his first question is always, ‘is he here?’”

“And he’s looking for an exit?”

“I swear Mackie boy siphons off people’s luck and changes it for the worse; mine usually gets bad whenever I’m around him. The shit Richie has been through is extreme. Every time he’s around Mac, Richie has been kidnapped, shot, threatened, or challenged. We are way past coincidence and enemy action.”

Matthew swore. “I’m surprised he trusts any of us.”

“Richie said it would be stereotyping and that would mean he’d have no friends among us. He’s got a lot of heart.”

Hearing the note of admiration in Cory’s voice, Matthew said, “He didn’t mention knowing you.”

“Richie knows more people than he’ll admit to knowing, same as me. Matthew, that bar of Amanda and Nick’s isn’t just a bar. Sanctuary’s a popular gastropub on Holy Ground that turns into a packed dance club on Friday and Saturday nights. Every immortal in Europe knows about it, and it's become a tourist spot too.”

“And?” Matthew prompted.

“Richie’s one of the best bartenders I’ve ever seen. He remembers people’s names, what they’ve told him, what they like to drink, and can defuse a fight. Not that he’s a slouch in that department. I’ve seen him fight. He’s damn fast with that rapier of his and his words cut as well as his sword.” Cory took a breath. “Richie took a head for me, solely because our paths crossed. He didn’t like the way my challenger was refusing to accept my attempt at negotiation. Tried to get him to fuck off, find someone else to kill; hell, find somewhere else to hunt. When that didn’t work, Richie accepted the challenge. He took on someone who has been hunting heads for at least the last three centuries and burned off the Quickening on the dance floor that night. Didn’t drink to excess, didn’t fuck someone, just danced it off.”

Aware Cory bedded people who impressed him, Matthew asked, “You thank him properly?”

Cory chuckled. “He said no; told me he was flattered but didn’t need that kind of complication in his life. Told me he couldn’t let that headhunter take my head because then he’d never get to apologize for letting Mac rile him up into helping him blow me up. I told him I deserved what I got, and we became friends. Is he staying with you?”

“If I said yes, will you tell me what you’re planning?”

Cory laughed again. “His birthday’s coming up on the twentieth. Figured I’d give him a gift. Just wanted to know if I needed to wait to give it to him or if he was somewhere I could deliver it.”

“No practical jokes.”

“Nah, I won’t do that to him again. He’s safe from me on that score. Oh, and Matthew? He doesn’t know you taught me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matthew said. “Be careful, Cory. Don’t do anything that means I need to arrest you.”

“Not this year,” Cory promised. Amusement colored his voice as he added, “I’m having too much fun making moonshine and selling it as craft liquor.”

“Kastagir’s recipe or yours?”

“No, Ceirdwyn gave me hers,” Cory laughed. “Mine was watered-down gin, remember? She insisted if I would package straight alcohol, I was better off making something drinkable that people would want to buy again.”

Matthew groaned, realizing he should not have vented to her about how he was disappointed Cory was still a thief. Ceirdwyn had warned him he might regret that. She had promised she would ensure Cory stayed out of trouble. He should have remembered that not only did his teacher keep her promises, she also came up with creative solutions. All he said aloud, though, was, “She finally tracked you down, then.”

“Ran into her in Paris at Sanctuary. She said Amanda invited her to check it out. Ceirdwyn convinced me with our experience brewing things, we should take advantage of the craft liquor trend, especially since technology is making it more difficult to be a thief. I’d forgotten how much fun making liquor is.” Matthew could see Cory’s grin. “We’re in Anderson, South Carolina, if you want to visit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Tell Ceirdwyn I said hello.”

“Will do.”

After hanging up, Matthew considered what he had learned. Richie had reason to fear Duncan, which would explain why he had left Seacouver. Richie’s criminal record had been clean for two decades. Cory’s respect of Richie and his friendship added another layer to the profile Matthew had of him. It meant Matthew had a clearer picture of who Richie was and the kind of loyalty he inspired in others. It also left Matthew wondering how long Richie would take before he broke down. Even the most resilient had their breaking points. Getting kidnapped again and dying repeatedly would be enough for most people.

Matthew made a mental note to look up a few mental health professionals who dealt with kidnapping trauma. Richie would need that help; the least Matthew could do, aside from keeping his promise to find Jolene Clark, was to make sure he had access to it.

* * *

_The following morning_

Richie hated police stations and having to give official police statements, though he appreciated this time, he was not a suspect. He also appreciated that Matthew had loaned him something other than a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to wear. The t-shirt and jeans belonged to a friend of Matthew’s, but they fit. Matthew also gave him some cash for bus fare so Richie could get home after giving his statement, since Richie had accompanied him to work.

Matthew set Richie up in one of the interview rooms, and introduced him to Austin White, his partner. Austin lived up to his first name: he was a big, broadly built black man, with a Texas accent, who wore a purple tie to contrast to his FBI-blue suit. Richie tucked his amusement at the tie firmly in his cheek, certain both agents would test him and would not appreciate that one of his coping mechanisms was to make comments about the things he found funny.

“Please state your name for the record,” Matthew began.

“Rich Ryan,” Richie said. “My friends call me Richie.”

“What happened to you?”

Richie claimed Jolene had tied him up and drugged him, but he got loose when she was distracted, staggered away, and then slept a couple days straight.  When he came back to see if he could find his wallet, which he had lost somewhere between the hotel he had been staying in and encountering Jolene, he found Matthew doing a last check on the facility.

Matthew and Austin took turns taking apart his story, asking questions to clarify what happened. Richie had been through the process enough to know the closer he kept to the truth, the easier it was to stay consistent. From the way Matthew reacted, Richie suspected Matthew was impressed that he stuck mostly to his original story, only changing details that would explain how he got free. Austin seemed amazed that Richie was still alive and was concerned about his welfare.

Matthew also let Richie know his leather jacket and short sword would remain in evidence for some time. Richie was not surprised by that; he had already written off both items as losses. Once Matthew was satisfied he had a solid statement, he let Richie go.

Once out of the FBI office, Richie got on a bus headed to a library branch close to the airport. As he did so, he used the time to contemplate his next steps. He was enough of a street rat to seize the opportunity he had been given: not paying for a motel room meant he could save some cash. More importantly, Matthew intrigued him. Richie had a weakness for wanting to find people to look up to, people who gave him hope that immortality was more than an endless series of false starts, broken dreams, and killing. Being around Nick and Amanda had been good; they had given him the stability and support he had craved, but he wanted more. He wanted to stop living out of someone else’s house, borrowing a room, making do with whatever he could stuff into a duffel bag. Matthew struck him as an old, experienced immortal, someone who had been around several centuries and who knew how to balance living with the Game. Richie figured he needed more friends like that.

Richie had long ago developed the habit of finding a place to stash most of his belongings somewhere that would not be disturbed. Since he had expected to move into the room Jolene had advertised, he had left only a few, easily replaceable items in the hotel room and moved the rest to somewhere safe. A high shelf in a rarely-used section of a public library had proven to be one of his better spots. This time was no different, and he retrieved a duffle bag, reinforced to withstand being strapped to a motorcycle as luggage. He quickly undid the combination lock on the main compartment and checked the contents, finding them intact.

Relief rushed through him as he found nothing had gone missing. He zipped up the compartment and took the bag with him into the restroom. He then changed out of the clothes he had borrowed from Matthew and tucked his wallet in his jeans. Since the weather was not cool enough to warrant a jacket, Richie left his rapier in the bag, and put the clothes he had borrowed into the bag. He then took the bag with him.

Since he was at the library anyway, he used one of the computers. He had a tablet buried in the bottom of the duffel bag, but since he didn’t know Matthew’s Wi-Fi password, he did not want burn precious cell time minutes or risk using unsecured public access. After checking to see where the nearest cell phone store was, he walked there, bought a cheap cell phone, and walked back. Going back to the library’s computer, Richie then spent an hour browsing the classified ads online, checking his email, and applying to jobs. As he had expected, his email inbox was full of nothing important, like promotional emails related to motorcycle merchandise, and ads for upcoming events in Paris and Seacouver.

He found an email from Cory Raines. A brief smile lit Richie’s face as he thought of the fun-loving thief, who had become a good friend despite their rough initial meeting. Cory’s email was brief.

_Heard you were back in the US again. I’m making legal moonshine in South Carolina – let me know where you are so I can get you some._

Richie was not surprised the older man had found out where he had gone, given how connected Cory seemed to be. Cory had also added his phone number, which Rich promptly added to his cell phone. He replied to Cory’s email with, “Let’s not find out you still can’t ship moonshine across state lines. I’m in Baltimore. I’ll call you when I’m more settled; I’m in between places right now.”

He emailed Amanda and Nick, letting them know where he was, and staying with a friend. Long habit of not wanting anyone to fuss over him meant he left out what had happened to him, especially since Amanda was prone to wanting to fix things for her friends.

After getting lunch, Richie checked the PO Box he had set up before getting kidnapped and checked his bank balance at an ATM. At Amanda’s urging, he had set up a bank account with an international bank that had branches in both Paris and the US. He was grateful for it now, because it meant he did not have to set up a new bank account. He hadn’t lied when he had told Matthew he was broke, but seeing the screen display the fact he was down to his last twenty dollars and that his credit card balance was dangerously higher than he liked to see it was disheartening. Richie had no idea how long finding Jolene Clark would take or how quickly her case would be processed through the system, but Richie’s experience with the wheels of justice meant he knew it would be several months.

Richie counted his blessings. He had a roof over his head, he had his sword, and he would not be going hungry. The applications he had put in would hopefully result in callbacks; he had to be patient. The police would catch Jolene or they would not; Richie refused to buy into the notion he had to be her judgment because she had wronged him. That way lay far more danger and madness than Richie wanted.

Sitting on the bus back to Matthew’s house, Richie took a deep breath, trying to quiet the voices in his head that told him he was not good enough, not strong enough, not talented enough, to be successful. That he had to be the hero, because no one else knew what Jolene was capable of like he did. He had survived, again. That was enough. It had to be enough.

Richie took another deep breath. He refused to give in to the overwhelming sense of failure for not being smart enough to avoid being kidnapped and killed. He had to focus on the positive: that at least his killer had not known how to kill an immortal. He had to keep believing he was not some grand victim in a life full of bad instances, because that way led to stupid mistakes, like dying of alcohol poisoning, or deciding to go back to a city where he had historically had only brief moments of happiness and security.

A voice in the back of his head urged him to call Amanda or Nick or Cory and beg them to send him a plane ticket to where they were. Staying put in this city, when Jolene was still alive and a threat, meant potentially running into her. Richie shut that voice up by telling himself staying put meant helping with the investigation and avoiding having to explain why he got kidnapped yet again.

Richie closed his eyes briefly. He was exhausted, mentally and emotionally, but he figured if he stayed safe, didn’t get kidnapped again, and took no heads in the next two weeks, he would recover. He needed time where nobody expected him to be more than just Richie, good enough at what he did to be accepted. Being in Seacouver had only reminded him he couldn’t go back home. If nothing else, he needed time to get enough money to fund his next trip. By then, Richie figured he would know whether he should stay or go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rhi and Nevada for brainstorming and beta reading.

The smell of lemons, orange, garlic, and chicken greeted Matthew that evening. Richie stood in the kitchen at the island that formed the divider between the kitchen and the dining room. He held a carving knife in one hand, a roasted chicken on a cutting board, and looked tense until he saw Matthew.

“Hey, looks like I timed that right,” he said, and went back to slicing the chicken. “Saw the contents of your freezer and pantry and figured since you weren’t a vegetarian, you’d appreciate a good roasted chicken with onions, carrots, and potatoes.”

A glance told Matthew that Richie had set the table for two, complete with glasses of water. “Smells delicious. Do you need any help with anything?”

“Bring the bowl of vegetables to the table, please?” He gestured to the bowl to the right of the stove. “If you want something other than water to drink, help yourself. I used white wine when I roasted the chicken.”

Nodding, Matthew did so. Richie followed him a moment later with a platter of sliced chicken and serving utensils.

“Do you mind if I say grace?” Matthew asked once they were seated at the old oak table and had portioned the entrée amongst themselves.

Richie shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Matthew smiled his appreciation and said a simple prayer of thanks. “Appreciate you letting me do that. I was raised Catholic.”

“I wasn’t,” Richie returned evenly. “A couple of the foster families I stayed with were religious. One of them tried to use it as justification for how they punished me. I didn’t like it, so I left.”

Matthew’s mouth tightened as he considered the implications of that statement. The look on Richie’s face reflected knowledge no child should have learned. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen,” Richie told him. “One of my friends at school got his parents to let me stay with them for a year, but then his mom lost her job and I had to go.” Richie shrugged.

Matthew took a bite of the chicken and found it to be moist and flavorful. “Were you able to find another family to take you in?”

“Not until I was seventeen. I was homeless most of my teens. Wound up couch-surfing, sleeping in alleys, and running with a gang.” Richie shrugged again and changed the subject. “Do you like the chicken?”

“It’s delicious,” Matthew agreed. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“One of my guardians was French.” Richie grinned, the memory lighting his face with joy. “She taught me French, cooking, and welding.”

“Welding?”

“She was a metal sculpture artist,” Richie replied. “Everything I know about fine art is because of her. Your pantry and fridge are well stocked. You cook often?”

“I grew up when other people cooking for you was a privilege reserved for lords and kings,” Matthew told him. Gut instinct made him add, “I was a knight in what’s now Salisbury, England.”

Richie eyed him. “An actual knight?”

“Wearing chain mail and plate armor is hot, heavy, and taxing on the body, and that’s even before you put yourself on a horse,” Matthew replied, his usual Southern drawl dropping into an English one as he spoke. “I died in a jousting tournament in 1255. My opponent got in the perfect strike. His horse was faster than mine, and his aim truer. His lance pierced me here,” he pointed to the point on his chest, “slid through the breastplate, went through the chain mail at the right angle to hit my heart, and shock and blood loss did the rest. I did the calculations once: getting shot with a rifle is less force than dying like I did. I died hearing the applause of the crowd.”

Richie stared at him, astounded. “Man, that would mess me up, knowing someone cheered my death,” he noted.

Matthew chuckled dryly. “I’d expected it, given it was what I trained for. What I didn’t expect was that the first person I saw after waking up from the dead would be the Lady Katherine, one of the visiting nobles for whom the tournament was being held. She told me what we were, told me she’d smuggled me out of the castle to her property, and offered to teach me. I thought she was crazy. I refused.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t want to be taught by a woman?”

“Worse. I completely dismissed her as being uneducated in the warrior arts just because she was a woman,” Matthew said ruefully. “She proceeded to demonstrate precisely why I should never underestimate her or anyone. When I revived again, she told me she was she’d fought against Romans who were more willing to respect female warriors. If I wanted to become more than some idiot who let himself die in a stupid tournament for the amusement of others, I’d shut my mouth, open my mind, and learn from her.”

Richie chuckled at that. “Sounds like she kicked your ass.”

Matthew nodded. “Yes, until I learned to appreciate what she was teaching me. She’s the reason I don’t assume women are weaker.”

“When did you pick up a Southern accent?” Richie wondered, taking a bite of his dinner.

“Several centuries ago,” Matthew told him. “Didn’t pay to be English anymore, especially after the American Revolutionary War.”

“I can see that. After I found out about immortals, I went on a ‘need to know history’ cram session.” He chuckled ruefully. “I didn’t get very far that first time, especially since I hated reading back then.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Matthew agreed, “and I don’t remember it all, especially if it happened outside of what I was doing at the time. Big events, yes, but small ones not so much.”

Richie nodded. “Someone asked me recently where I was when 9/11 happened. I had to stop and think what year that was.”

“It’s a watershed moment for a generation; it changed things,” Matthew noted. “Where were you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Broken down on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, Morocco.” Richie shook his head, his expression wry. “I had no idea what was going on until three days later, when I finally got to civilization. I didn’t want to believe it was true. Had to watch multiple news clips before it sank in. You?”

“Atlanta, working for the FBI. I lost a few good friends in New York.”

“I’m sorry,” Richie said sincerely. “You said you’re Catholic. Does that mean you attend Mass on Sunday?”

“Yes. You’re welcome to come with me, but it’s not a requirement of you staying here with me.”

Richie flashed a smile. “I might out of curiosity more than anything else. I like seeing how different faiths carry out their worship of their god; it’s interesting to see what stays common. Don’t expect it to convert me, though.”

“I won’t,” Matthew promised. “I see you changed clothes. Were you able to retrieve your things?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure where you wanted me to put the knife I borrowed from you, so I still have it. I’ll give back to you after dinner.”

“No rush. What did you lose in the hotel?”

“My sleeping bag, a couple of clothes, and a dagger I’d bought recently.” He frowned. “And maybe a bracelet and a t-shirt – I’ll know for sure when I dig through my stuff and do laundry.”

A small silence fell as they continued to eat. Matthew broke it with, “Do you prefer shorter swords and knives over a longer blade?”

“Sometimes,” Richie allowed, his expression going wary. He sat a little straighter in his chair, and he put his fork down.

“I’m not asking to know how you fight,” Matthew replied, hating that he’d put tension back in when he thought things were going well. “I’m asking because if you lost something you need, I can help you get a replacement. I wouldn’t want to be defenseless if the situation was reversed.”

“Oh. In that case: I appreciate the offer, but I prefer to pick stuff like that out myself.” He paused before adding, “One of my friends is a smith. Her family has a forge outside Ellicott City. They’ve been making battle-ready and combat blades for the last hundred and thirty years. She’s the one who suggested I come to Baltimore.” He flashed Matthew a smile. “Met her when she came through Sanctuary a few years ago; we got to talking about what the perfect dagger was. Have you heard of Penwell’s Forge?”

“I’ve bought a few items from them over the years,” Matthew replied. He was getting the sense that Richie might have more than a few people in common with him. “They do good work; I’ve never had cause to doubt their skill. There aren’t that many families continuing the blacksmithing art; they’re one of the few I’m aware of in this area.”

“Yeah, Ellie showed me a video of her working with her brother and her father on a beautiful Damascus-steel sword. They post videos of their work on YouTube. She said it’s helped save their business since they do so much work on commission.”

“I can see that.” Matthew helped himself to a second serving of vegetables and chicken and caught Richie’s smile of satisfaction as he did so. Wanting to see Richie relax more, Matthew kept the rest of their dinner conversation light.

Once the dinner cleanup was over, Richie asked for Matthew’s Wi-Fi password, which he granted. Richie came back downstairs with a tablet and the Bowie knife he’d borrowed. He asked Matthew questions about the different neighborhoods within Baltimore based on the jobs he saw posted online, and the rest of the evening passed quickly.

* * *

The rest of the week passed in frustration. Richie’s statement produced a quality profile, but the rest of the evidence had to be processed before Matthew and his partner could act. Then the Baltimore PD claimed jurisdiction, because the warehouse was in downtown Baltimore and the initial identification of bodies skewed towards victims from the Baltimore area. The fight over whose case it was stalled the investigation. The address Richie had provided where he had been lured was the only fruitful avenue: it had belonged to one of the early victims, and Jolene and Django had been renters in the house. However, Jolene was nowhere to be found. The house, however, was proving to be a field day for the officers assigned to comb through it and figure out what might apply to the case.

By Friday, Matthew was missing the days when he could arrest his suspect, toss them in jail, and call his work done. He was enough of a pragmatist to know needing evidence and proof to back up suspicion would cement a case, but he hated having to tell Richie that they were no closer to arresting the woman responsible than when he had been rescued on Tuesday. Knowing Jolene was a pre-immortal did not help much, either. In Matthew’s mind, that only added to the sense of urgency. He did not want Jolene finding out what a Quickening felt like.

Richie seemed either unaffected by his experience or was channeling it into something else. Matthew suspected the latter; he had come home on Thursday to a thoroughly vacuumed and cleaned house, including the bathrooms. Richie also cooked dinner again – this time, a perfect shrimp risotto. Richie claimed boredom; Matthew let the white lie stand, figuring if it helped him to process, it was worth it.

He provided Richie with a list of the mental health professionals he had found, offering to pay for their services. Richie thanked him for the list but did not appear to do anything further with it. Matthew did not press him on the subject, respecting his privacy. Matthew also gave Richie some cash so he could get a bus pass and didn’t go stir crazy, stuck in the house.

When Matthew came home from work on Friday, he found the house empty. A note on the door separating the basement garage from the upstairs indicated Richie had gone out to check out a popular dance club and did not expect to be back until late. Richie had also added a cell phone number, which told Matthew he had acquired one, and he texted Richie his thanks. He got a ‘you’re welcome’ emoji in return.

Matthew headed up to change out of his suit and into something more comfortable for lounging. Once he had done so, he started back downstairs. As he did so, he saw that Richie had left the door to the guest room open. Curiosity had Matthew stopping and checking out the room.

He found the bed messily made, but the pillows and quilt were off the floor. A rectangular container, wrapped in brown leather, sat propped against the bed; the narrow width, long length, and lid configuration made Matthew think it was what Richie used to protect his sword in his luggage. The closet, with its sliding doors, had been left half-open in such a way that made Matthew think Richie had pulled it shut and the door had bounced back open. A large semi-rigid duffel bag of the type to sit on the passenger backrest of a motorcycle sat on the floor, unzipped, but Richie had unpacked very little of it; only a dress shirt and a pair of khakis hung in the closet. A pair of motorcycle boots sat underneath; the boots showed extensive wear. A small pile of what Matthew assumed were dirty clothes sat next to the bag. The charger cable for Richie’s phone sat on the nightstand, unplugged, next to his tablet, which was currently charging.

The lack of unpacking bothered Matthew on a level he could not name. It spoke of being on the move, of not settling into more than what Richie could carry in one bag. How long had Richie been on the move? Matthew wondered now. Or was Richie just inclined not to carry anything he couldn’t afford to lose? Or was Richie still unsure of whether to trust Matthew, and therefore was ready to leave if Matthew proved his caution was warranted? Everything Matthew saw would take fifteen minutes, max, to toss back into that duffel bag.

Shaking his head at himself for asking questions he could not answer until Richie came home, Matthew finished moving down to the living room to watch TV. He found a recently released historically-based movie to watch, intrigued to see what Hollywood got right this time. The accuracy and characterization sucked in Matthew’s attention, and he didn’t notice the time passing until the movie was over. Blinking, he glanced at the time on the cable box and saw it was just past ten pm.

He felt an immortal near, then heard the key turn in the front door. “It’s just me,” Richie called out as he opened the door and stepped inside. He had worn a leather jacket over a tank top, jeans, and sneakers. Matthew saw as he moved across the room the back of the jacket had an X-decoration to help conceal a crossbody sword sheath.

“Figured you’d be out later, closer to midnight,” Matthew commented.

“Eh. Later means more people on the dance floor and I’m not up to that level of bump and grind. Plus, the place was being cheap with their DJ choice. Pre-programmed satellite radio means no one to see how the crowd’s reacting to what’s being played.” Richie shook his head as he stepped into the kitchen to grab a drink of water. He promptly downed half.

“You sound like you know what works.”

Richie nodded. “A live DJ will always react better. You want people out on the floor, so they get thirsty and buy drinks, but if you want your customers to come back, you pace the songs. That way, the bartenders don’t get overwhelmed with everyone all at once. That’s how Nick runs things at Sanctuary.” He flashed Matthew a grin. “Guess that means one club I’m not working at. Looked cool from the website description, though.” He finished his glass of water, rinsing it in the sink. “Do you work Saturdays?”

“Sometimes,” Matthew said.

“Would I be overstepping if I asked if you were making progress on finding the bitch who killed and kidnapped me?”

“You can ask,” Matthew replied, compassion coloring his voice, “but all I can say is that we found the house you went to. However, I caution you not to go looking for her yourself.”

“Yeah, that’s one Quickening I don’t want,” Richie replied, shuddering. “Trust me, that’s not the route I want to go.” He studied Matthew, his expression reflecting curiosity. “You don’t want to look for her yourself?”

“It might come to that, but for now, the case is out of FBI jurisdiction and in Baltimore PD’s hands. I need to work with the Baltimore PD; pissing them off isn’t what I want to do.”

“What would happen to you if you looked for her anyway?”

“They could charge me with interfering with an active investigation,” Matthew told him. “Depending on how severe that infraction was deemed to be, I could lose my badge. I’d rather not have to start over again if I can help it.”

Richie mulled that over a moment before asking, “Even if that means someone else could die before you arrest Jolene?”

“It’s a risk,” Matthew agreed. “What you told me got the investigation one step closer. Otherwise, we would not know who killed all those people. We shared that information with the Baltimore PD.”

Richie looked away briefly. “My teacher told me he didn’t trust the police to get it right when it came to immortal stuff, that they couldn’t handle one of us, so he’d take care of dispensing justice himself. I get that for the truly evil among us, but I don’t know if I want to take that much darkness into myself. Somewhere you have to draw a line between letting the police do their jobs and playing the Game.” He offered Matthew a rueful smile. “Even if right now part of me wants to go find that bitch and fix it so she dies permanently, and no one gets her Quickening.”

Understanding, Matthew replied, “Me not acting on this case does not mean nothing is being done, Richie. I’ve met the Baltimore PD detectives working the case; they are dedicated professionals. I have faith they will find her and arrest her.” He paused, studying the younger man a moment before adding, “That doesn’t mean I’m not hoping the case moves back under FBI jurisdiction, so I can make her arrest. What she did to you and those others was horrific and twisted.”

Richie smiled briefly at that. “Don’t mistake your calm for lack of interest, got it. Anyway, the reason I asked is to figure out when you wanted to go grocery shopping.”

“We can do it tomorrow after breakfast.”

Richie grinned. “Figured as much; that’s partly why I came back early. See you in the morning.” He headed upstairs, whistling cheerfully.

Grateful Richie did not press the issue, Matthew let out a breath. Turning off the TV, he picked up his cell phone. He then rose to his feet, checked the lock on the front door, and set the security system for night mode, figuring they wouldn’t be leaving the house before morning. Halfway up the stairs, his phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he winced and rejected the call. Stepping into his home office, Matthew shut the door, grabbed headphones, and listened to the message.

“Matthew, it’s Duncan MacLeod. Sorry to call you so late, but it’s been a month since anyone’s seen my former student, and I’m worried. His name is Richie Ryan, and the last time someone saw him, he was fighting two-on-one, and he was the one. Two headhunters were looking for me and got him first. I’m told he won but he’s vanished. He was camping out in one of my warehouses and all his things are gone, including his motorcycle. I don’t even know where to look for him. I figured since you were in law enforcement, you might have suggestions. If you do, I’d love a call back.” Duncan left his number before disconnecting.

Matthew swore. The call back would have to wait. Slipping off the headphones, Matthew took his phone with him. Richie’s door was closed, but the bedroom light was still on and Matthew could hear a sports recap video. Matthew knocked on the door and waited.

Richie opened the door cautiously, one hand behind the door in a way that told Matthew he had a sword in his hand. Matthew’s estimation of him went up a notch; not every immortal was that cautious. “What’s up?”

“Duncan MacLeod was your teacher.”

Richie sighed, resigned. “Figured you’d figure it out. You his friend?”

“Yes. Close enough to trust him with my phone number but not my current address.”

“Ah, that kind of friend. Why does him being my teacher matter?”

In reply, Matthew played the voicemail message and watched Richie’s expression go from relaxed to bewilderment to anger to fear. “Please don’t tell him I’m here,” he begged Matthew. “I told him I was leaving. He’s obsessed with trying to make something right that was wrong twenty-five years ago. I can’t go back and rewind what happened – it’s too late. I needed him as a teacher and protector back then, not now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Richie grimaced. “He isn’t accepting that what I want isn’t the same as what he wants for me. He ran into me at a bar and was all excited that I was in the same city again. I let him talk, made the right noises in the right places, and thought to myself that I was glad I had a plan for getting the hell out of town. He doesn’t believe I don’t want to follow his plan for my life.”

“What’s his plan for your life?”

“College degree in business administration, in between running his latest dojo. I can’t do it, Matthew. He nearly killed me in his last one because he took a dark Quickening and it took me months of therapy just to step into one without panicking.” Richie swallowed hard against the tide of memories. “Mac forgets that every time I share the same city as him, I’m the one to get hurt. He’s convinced he can somehow make up for all the years he put a target on my back.” He met Matthew’s gaze. “I can’t do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said sincerely. “Were you planning on leaving before those headhunters challenged you?”

Richie nodded. “Seacouver was quiet before he came back. A few headhunters came through when I was there but when they figured out Mac wasn’t there and that I wasn’t interested in playing the Game, they left. I got warned Mac was in town and knew I had to get out. Took me a few weeks to put a plan together for where I wanted to go, buy a plane ticket, and get here.” Richie stepped back from the door, opening it wider, and revealing he held his rapier in his right hand. “I’m sorry, but I have to sit down before I do something stupid.”

Matthew watched as he sat down on the bed and balanced his sword against the nightstand; the handle wound up resting close to his wallet. His hands were shaking, Matthew noted, and he never turned his back on Matthew when he did it. “He messes you up that much?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah. Back in 1997, I was supposed to meet him at a racetrack in Paris. He was looking for proof of some prophecy of a millennial demon and his being named the champion. Joe and Adam convinced me I should ignore Mac, said the year was wrong for the millennium, among other inconsistencies. I went to Amanda, needing to hear her opinion; she was so alarmed, she wouldn’t let me go back to see Mac. She was so certain I wouldn’t listen to her, she shot me, stabbed me so I stayed dead, and took me out of Paris and out of harm’s way. I heard later Mac was arrested for killing the night watchman at the track, but the death was ruled an accident.”

“What do you believe?”

“If I hadn’t gone to talk to Amanda, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation without a medium or a whole lot of creepy-ass magic.” Richie took a deep breath and deliberately breathed out. “I’m not saying Mac’s out to get me – but you know, he's more of a trouble magnet than Amanda and he splashes more of it on me.”

Matthew met his gaze. “You said you told him you were leaving. Did he see you go?”

“No.” Richie shook his head. “I was going to, but then I got challenged, two on one, and wasn’t in the mood after that to do more than dump the bodies, get cleaned up, and get on the next plane out of the city.”

Matthew blinked at that statement. “How did you win against two others?”

“Home field advantage: I knew the alley they wanted to fight me in, knew it narrowed in the middle thanks to where the trash dumpsters were,” Richie shrugged. “That and forcing them to fight each other instead of me worked really well. Once I got them to where their swords were against each other instead of me, they were susceptible to taunts. Tried to get them to change their minds about fighting but they were so certain they could take me. Told them the Gathering wasn’t happening now, and playing the Game only meant they’d lose their shot at living longer.” Richie’s voice held bitter acceptance: he had won but regretted he had to take two lives to do it. “Thanks to them, I got a glimpse of how my life could’ve been if I hadn’t gotten off the streets, but –” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t owe Duncan anything. I can get myself into enough trouble without him adding to it.”

“How long were you with him before you died the first time?”

“A year,” Richie replied. “Also, a year in which I got kidnapped, held hostage, and targeted by an immortal just because they saw me with Mac. I didn’t understand why he kept getting on my case about being careful until after I was shot. Then I didn’t understand why he was still on my case about being careful because he refused to teach me how to wield a sword until someone challenged me. Even then, he tried to talk me out of taking the challenge, but he’d never kill a woman, especially a woman who’d been his lover.”

Shocked by that, Matthew asked, “He refused to teach you until it became absolutely necessary for you to know?”

“Yeah, he had his dojo manager teaching me how to box instead, which I didn’t get. It’s different stances. I swear I’ve learned more from being on my own, playing the Game, or from other people than he ever taught me.” Richie looked away briefly, clearly remembering old pain. He then looked at Matthew. “But if you consider him a friend, tell him whatever you want. I’ll just pack my stuff and go somewhere else.”

“And go where?”

“Nowhere you need to know.” Richie pulled the house key out of his jeans pocket and set it on the nightstand. “Thanks for rescuing me and letting me stay. I’ll be out of your hair in fifteen minutes.”

If Matthew did not stop him, Richie would leave and keep on running until he felt safe. If that happened, Matthew would be hard-pressed to find him. A man like Richie would know to lose his cell phone so he wouldn’t be tracked, how to live off the streets, and vanish from sight. Then, Matthew would lose his star witness and any shot he’d had at getting to know the man. Already, Matthew had seen glimpses of a charismatic, happy-go-lucky man who enjoyed being alive and being able to contribute. Not wanting to lose what he had, Matthew said, “I won’t tell him you’re here, Richie. I’ve paid back any favors I’ve owed him, and he need not know where you are.”

For a frozen minute, Richie stared at him, unwilling to believe.

“I give you my word, Richie. If he calls again, looking for assistance, I’ll only give him general information on how to find a missing person, but I won’t disclose you’re here.”

Richie shuddered out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Matthew.”

“That said, if you want him to leave you alone, call him. Tell him you don’t need or want his help. He’ll only keep asking people where you are, and he’s friends with enough people that you have probably more in common that way than you realize.”

“I’ll think about it. Thanks for letting me know he called you.”

The finality in Richie’s voice made Matthew’s heart ache. “You’re welcome, Richie. Please don’t feel you need to leave just because of that call.”

Richie nodded tightly. “Would you mind shutting the door on your way out?”

Matthew took the cue to leave the room, wondering if he’d wake up in the morning to find the younger man gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, the force of a lance striking plate armor: [here](https://www.quora.com/Could-the-lance-of-a-knight-penetrate-plate-armor)
> 
> As always - feedback is much appreciated. :-)


	4. Chapter 4

Richie waited until he didn’t hear Matthew’s footsteps before he put his head in his hands and let out a shuddering breath. He had shed enough tears, sworn enough curses, fought and won enough challenges, to feel like he should be over the myriad of emotions Duncan triggered in him. He wanted to run. He wanted to pretend he didn’t give an immortal he barely knew more than enough information to use against him.

Richie sat on the bed and debated his next move. He liked Matthew; liked the house he had and the fact it was near one of the major bus lines, making it easy for him to get to most of the city. Starting over – again – would double his credit card debt, and Richie never had much cushion to afford that kind of debt. He could get another identity, escape debt that way, but his sense of honesty would not permit that kind of abuse.

Without letting himself thinking about it, he texted a number he knew he should have called sooner.

_If I met one of us named Matthew McCormick, should I trust him?_

Cory replied immediately. _If he promised you something, he means it. He’s not a man who gives his word lightly. He’s from an age where that meant more than a written signature. That means if you stole something, he **will**  arrest you._

_You know him, then._

_He and I go way back,_ Cory wrote. _I barely remember when we didn’t know each other. I’ve lost count of how often he’s arrested me for theft, bailed me out of jail, or yelled at me for being a thief. What the hell did you do to get his attention?_

Richie hesitated a moment before typing out his answer. _Got kidnapped and stuck in a wall._

Cory dialed him immediately. “Jesus, kid, you okay?” the older immortal demanded, sounding worried.

“I’m fine,” Richie told him. “Definitely not answering any Craigslist ads for rooms for rent anytime soon, though. Matthew found and rescued me.”

Cory whistled softly. “You need anything, cash for a motel, clothing, a sword? I can send you money if you need it. It’s not stolen, either.”

The reassurance that he wouldn’t receive stolen money made Richie grin briefly. “No, Matthew’s letting me stay with him.”

“Then what has you panicking? Besides being trapped in a wall and dying a few times, trying to get out. Not that I would know anything about getting stuck in a tight space.” Cory’s voice was light, but Richie heard the experience weighing down the breezy tone.

“Mac called him looking for me.”

“Ah. You want me to run interference? I’d be happy to tell Mac you’re with me.”

For a moment, Richie was tempted. Cory would gleefully cover for him, but the problem with that was that Richie had no control over what story Cory would tell. It had worked once, but twice was more than Richie felt comfortable. “I think I’m better off if you don’t. No offense, Cory, but let’s not start any more rumors about you and me.”

“Aw, come on, Richie, it was fun! And it got you that pretty tourist you wanted, didn’t it?”

“She wasn’t worth it after all.”

“Pity. She had a body that wouldn’t quit.”

“And godawful hygiene,” Richie remembered. “And she was hoping for a threesome and called being with me alone ‘settling for second best.’ I was insulted.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll happily to help you forget that awful experience,” Cory flirted.

Laughing, Richie countered, “Uh huh, and what about that gorgeous woman I saw you chatting with? Pale skin, long dark reddish-brown hair?”

“She’s off limits. Like, way off limits,” Cory said hastily. “She’s now my boss, and she’s my teacher’s teacher. She killed me the first time I tried to flirt with her, just because I hadn’t learned no means no.”

“Oh. But she treats you okay?”

Cory chuckled. “I trust Ceirdwyn with my life, Richie. She defined what a strong woman is for me, way back when it wasn’t fashionable or easy for women to be independent, strong, or opinionated, or hell, have their own agency. I wouldn’t work for her now if I didn’t get along with her, teacher’s teacher or not. If you hadn’t been in a rush to leave Paris, I would’ve introduced her to you.” Amusement crept into his voice as he added, “She’s paying my teacher back for bitching to her about how many years I’ve spent being a thief he has to arrest.”

“Isn’t that, like, seven centuries and change?”

“Well, I know what I’m good at,” Cory said cheerfully. “But as you and she have pointed out, facial recognition means I either need to step up my game or get out. Until someone starts making that facial mask the Black Widow had in that one movie, I have to do something else.”

Richie grinned. “Have you seen the recent Marvel movie?”

“Do not get me started on that one,” Cory retorted. “I went in for a good time, not a rip-your-heart one.”

“I think everyone did,” Richie agreed.

“I should let you get sleep if you can. If Matthew gets to be too much, call me.” Not expecting a reply to that, Cory disconnected the line.

Feeling slightly better, Richie set his phone aside. He was certain, though, that he would have nightmares that night. His prediction came true, and around 3 AM, the familiar nightmare of Duncan under the influence of the Dark Quickening returned.

Richie jerked awake. The unfamiliar room only added to the sense of unreality, and the feel of another immortal close by triggered a flight reaction. Not letting himself think, Richie tossed on his sneakers, grabbed his sword, a jacket, his wallet, the house key, and ran out of the house, pausing only to lock the door behind himself.

* * *

The next morning, Matthew did not feel the distinct sense of another immortal in his house, and his heart sank. A check of the room Richie had been using revealed it was empty, but Richie’s duffel on the floor gave Matthew hope, as did the tablet on the nightstand. The rugged case on the tablet made Matthew grin briefly, though the battered corners of the case told him Richie had been carrying it around a while. The sword case was empty, and both the leather jacket and Richie’s wallet were gone.

For a moment, Matthew was tempted to look for him, but knew he had no idea where to start other than the immediate vicinity. If Richie had been feeling trapped – given what he had been through, a likely assumption – chasing him down was only going to add to his paranoia, not abate it. Matthew told himself to be patient but found himself checking the time repeatedly.

He was rewarded an hour later by the feel of another immortal approaching and the sound of the key in the front door lock. Richie stepped inside, looking tired.

“You okay?”

“Nightmares,” Richie said briefly. “Had to get out and see the sky. Federal Hill Park’s not a bad place to watch the sunrise.”

Matthew nodded; he had spent many a morning in the peace of that park. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Stopped at a coffeehouse on the way back. Have you eaten?”

“Yes. Did you want to get the grocery shopping done, then?”

“If it’s okay with you. I can crash later.” He paused before adding, “I should’ve warned you sooner, but my body still thinks I need to eat like I’m a growing teenager. I hit puberty late and then died when I was nineteen.” He smiled ruefully.

“Understood,” Matthew said.

Sensing Richie would not tell him what his nightmare had been about, Matthew decided to run with the plan. The trip to the grocery store was enlightening: with a few exceptions, Richie did not run wild with his requests. He respected Matthew’s choices, pointed out a few sale items that Matthew missed, and reminded Matthew of a few items he had forgotten he had been out of, since they were ingredients to dishes he rarely made unless he had company. Matthew then kicked himself for thinking Richie would go wild: he was not a nineteen-year-old who craved nothing but junk food, but a man in his forties, who had cooked professionally and had learned both frugality and healthy eating. It wasn’t until they got to the potato chip aisle that Matthew realized Richie had been holding back.

“Salt and vinegar chips? Really?” Matthew asked when Richie put the bag in the cart.

“Don’t knock ‘em until you’ve tried them,” Richie said cheerfully. “But I don’t recommend you eat them if you’re planning on kissing anyone later.”

Matthew shot him a look. “Is that your usual reason for not eating something?”

Richie grinned, looking years younger and more carefree. “No, but it’s one of the better ones.”

“True,” Matthew agreed.

“Usually my reason is I can’t afford it,” Richie said easily. “Or it’s something I’ve tried already and know I’m never going to eat again unless I’m starving and can’t be picky. Like chocolate-covered crickets or teriyaki-covered tarantulas.”

Matthew eyed him strangely. “Where have you been that you’ve had to eat that?”

“Oh, here and there,” Richie said vaguely. “The worst part is the tiny bits that stick in your teeth.” He shuddered. “Give me something more substantial, like regular meat. Hell, tofu’s even better than that stuff.”

Chuckling, Matthew put a bag of his favorite plain potato chips in his cart.

Once they were back at the house, Richie helped put the groceries away, then excused himself to take a nap. Matthew took advantage of the time to check his work email, hoping that he would have some news regarding the progress of victim identification and whether the case would become FBI jurisdiction. As he had hoped, the count of victims identified had risen to fifteen; the team doing the analysis had worked overtime. The case, however, remained in Baltimore PD’s hands. All Matthew needed was one more victim from out of state to make it a federal case. The pattern of damage Jolene had inflicted reflected an escalation of violence; the last five corpses had varying degrees of missing limbs and teeth, making their identification more difficult.

Matthew had worked countless serial killer cases before; he understood why jurisdiction mattered. No cop wanted their case taken from them, but not being able to contribute on this one grated on Matthew. He was half-tempted to search the city, looking for Jolene, but he resisted the urge. He’d done so in the past and waded through the paperwork and administrative reproaches, but he had promised himself not to be a cowboy this time. Keeping the Baltimore PD as his allies had too much future value to risk pissing them off.

Sighing, he closed his work email and decided to make a few calls to friends instead, hoping that by catching up on other people’s lives, the ugliness of the world he worked in would be countered.

Several hours later, Matthew was doing a set of stretches on the third floor when he heard Richie ask, “I know we just went grocery shopping this morning, but I’m feeling a little closed in still. There’s a restaurant not far from here I’d like to check out.” He took a deep breath. “And I’d feel a little bit better if you were there with me.”

Matthew turned to face the other man. “Any particular reason why?”

Richie shook his head. “Just don’t want to keep staring at the walls and feeling alone.” He offered Matthew a rueful smile. “Plus having someone else there means I’m less likely to look like I’m eating like a pig.”

Matthew chuckled. “We skipped lunch; I’m not surprised you’re hungry. Did you want to walk there, or shall I drive?”

“It’s about a half mile away,” Richie offered. “Your choice.”

“If you don’t mind the walk, then I don’t. Parking is an exercise in frustration in that area. Let me put on my shoes.”

As they walked, Richie asked, “Of the places you’ve lived, where has been your favorite?”

Matthew considered the question. “It comes down to where I’ve had the most friends and family,” he answered. “One of the hardest things for me has been how difficult it can be to forge those ties if you want to keep certain facets of your life private. Our lives can get incredibly lonely if we let them.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. I’m glad for cell phones and email; it makes it easier to stay connected to people. That said, I’m much happier when I can talk to people face-to-face.”

Matthew smiled. “I marvel sometimes at the things I take for granted now. I’ve wondered, though, what would someone born in the 20th century would take for granted?”

“Oh, Internet, cell phones that connect nearly anywhere in the world, seeing something happen in Tokyo when you’re in Paris within seconds of it happening, twenty-four-hour stores, the International Space Station still floating out there, stuff like that,” Richie replied promptly. “Oh, and the persistent rumor that everything that happened in the 1960s and 1970s was faked by Hollywood, including the moon landing.”

Chuckling, Matthew said, “I think that sort of thing happens every century. Nobody wants to believe anything that happened decades or centuries earlier was true. I saw where they announced that someone had finally figured out some of the ancient Celtic and Viking warrior graves they’ve found belonged to women.”

“I bet your teacher gave you an earful when you shared that information with her.”

Matthew’s grin widened. “She’s the one who called me and ranted for a good ten minutes. It was educational. She was from a large, successful tribe that the Romans wiped out in their conquest of what’s now northeastern England.” He glanced at Richie. “For the record, Richie, not all teachers are bad luck.”

“I know,” Richie replied. “I could’ve ended up with way worse: no teacher at all until I stumbled upon someone willing to take advantage of my naïveté and skills as a sometime thief.” He flashed a brief smile and changed the subject. “Are you rooting for any sports teams this season?”


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Matthew was surprised to find Richie making pancakes at 7:30 AM. The smell of bacon mingled with the scent of pancakes and coffee.

“You’re up early,” he noted as he helped himself to a cup of coffee.

“You’d mentioned you go to Mass; figured you’d probably go to the oldest Catholic church here in the city, which has its first service at 9 AM,” Richie told him, expertly flipping a pair of pancakes. He smiled as he added, “And if you didn’t go to that one, well, I was hungry anyway.”

Matthew chuckled. “You guessed right. I smell it, but I don’t see the bacon – am I missing something?”

“Yeah, they’re in the pancakes. How many do you want?” Richie had a stack of four pancakes on a plate beside the stove.

Matthew eyed him warily; he’d never heard of bacon in pancakes, but it made sense. “Give me one to start and we’ll go from there.”

Richie’s smile widened as he took a plate and slid one of the already cooked pancakes onto it. “I put the butter and maple syrup on the table. Start without me; I want to finish the batter before I sit down.” He finished cooking the rest of the batter, making a dozen pancakes, before taking a plate for himself and adding four pancakes to it. He then poured himself more coffee before joining Matthew at the table, who had used the time while he waited to say grace.

Matthew took a cautious bite. Richie had sprinkled bits of bacon throughout the fluffy pancake, ensuring that every bite had bacon. He chewed, then tried it with a little bit of maple syrup. The combination made him realize he had always thought pancakes and bacon went together; this just made it easier. “This is addictive,” he told Richie.

“I know,” Richie said, grinning. His face flushed with pride. “The first version I learned to make just put the bacon strips into the pancake, but I like the bits better. You get more bacon in every bite.”

“Where did you learn to make it?”

“Diner in Chicago,” Richie said. “Owner would make it with the full strips as a weekend special.”

Matthew took several more bites. “I can see where these would be popular.”

“Yeah, I usually eat too many when I make it for myself,” Richie replied. “Nice to be able to share.”

“I can see where that would be a problem. Some dishes are better shared, even if you tend to need to eat a lot.”

Richie nodded. “Before you ask – no, I won’t be joining you at Mass today.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Matthew replied, not surprised. “I should be back shortly after the service.”

Surprised, Richie asked, “Not inclined to linger and talk to the other churchgoers? I know some people do that.”

Matthew shrugged. “If I see someone I know, sure, but it’s not like being in a small town, where going to church is nearly mandatory if you live there.”

“Oh yeah,” Richie said fervently. “Lived in a small town in Mexico for three months. I was never more grateful I’d gotten introduced to Catholicism; I could at least look like I wasn’t the ignorant gringo they thought I was.”

Matthew smiled. “I can imagine. You’ve done a lot of traveling?”

“Yeah, Amanda wanted to keep moving after I told her what was going on with Duncan and that millennial prophecy. She feared I’d go back if we were anywhere near him and didn’t want to be in harm’s way if any of it was true. We spent a year living out of suitcases. I didn’t even know some of those islands existed, but I can say I’ve been to Greece, Japan, Tahiti, and the Virgin Islands.”

“Were you upset she didn’t trust you to not go back to him?”

“At first, yeah,” Richie said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Then she asked me to think about it in a way that clicked for me. Plus, she made traveling fun again and taught me about how to make it so my sword was less noticeable. Before, I worried about the metal detectors picking up I had a knife in my jacket. She taught me a lot.”

“She’s older than me,” Matthew acknowledged. “And there are not as many female immortals as men, so the ones who have lived past half a century are well-known. She’s one of the oldest I know of still alive. I’ve heard others claim she’s relied on others to defend her, but I’ve seen her fight. She’s not as unskilled as she’s sometimes pretended to be. Rebecca’s students always were more than they appeared. She never let her students go without being knowledgeable healers, skilled fighters, and incredibly capable and adaptable people.”

“You knew her teacher?”

Matthew nodded. “Had to arrest her and Amanda once. Ladies were not supposed to be where they were.” He paused, remembering. “That was why they were there.”

Richie chuckled. “I can imagine. Amanda’s told me stories of Rebecca; I wish I could have met her before she died.”

In companionable silence, they finished the meal. Richie waved off Matthew’s offer to clean up, saying since he had nowhere to be, he needed the work. Once Matthew had left, Richie took advantage of his absence to make two phone calls he had been dreading. Deliberately, he called the easier of the two. Sitting on the couch, he dialed a number he had long ago memorized, since Quickenings fried unshielded electronics.

“Hello?”

“Joe, it’s Richie,” Richie blurted, certain the bluesman, bar owner, and semi-retired Watcher was still at home, since it was too early in Seacouver for him to be in his bar.

“Kid, you had many people worried. Are you hiding out from someone?”

“No.” He paused before admitting, “I got kidnapped again.”

“Another Hunter or someone after Mac?” Alarmed, Joe leapt to the obvious conclusions.

“No. A serial killer who targeted people who wanted to rent a room in the same house as she lived.”

“Jesus wept,” Joe said, making it sound like a curse. “But you got out?”

“Yeah, thanks to Matthew McCormick.”

Joe sighed, relieved. “You got lucky, kid. He’s one of the good guys.”

“I noticed,” Richie said. He paused before asking, “Please don’t tell Mac I got kidnapped. I don’t need him fussing over me like I’m seventeen again.”

“I will, if you tell me why you’ve been refusing to be anywhere he is.”

“Go back and read my Chronicle, Joe. Note how bad my luck is anytime I share a city with him compared to how long I was in Paris with Amanda, or on my own.”

The semi-retired Watcher sighed. “And you’re tired of being collateral damage.”

“It’s one thing when I stumble into shit, like what happened to me. That’s my bad luck. It’s another when I can directly correlate that bad luck to proximity to a Highlander.”

“For what it’s worth, Richie, he’s worried about you since you vanished on him in Paris twenty-one years ago. Amanda’s never told him she took you away. Where did she take you? Even her Watcher didn’t know where she was until she showed up in Torago a year later.”

Richie chuckled. “It was a worldwide tour, Joe. I’d have to look at my passport to be sure, but I know it was at least six countries, including Greece, the Virgin Islands, and Japan.” He hedged the list, certain that his Watcher would ask Joe if he hadn’t already.

“You’re not going to tell me the rest, not even to indulge an old man’s curiosity?”

“Nope. I know whoever’s my Watcher now will ask you. I’d rather you be able to say you don’t know everything just because I consider you to be a friend.”

Joe grumbled, “They quit asking me a long time ago, kid. I don’t even know who your Watcher is.” He paused. “But I heard a rumor that they stopped assigning you one – you dropped off the radar after you left Paris. Until you showed up here, nobody knew where you were.”

“Good,” Richie said. “I figured if the Watchers couldn’t track me, neither could the immortal grapevine.”

“Did it help?”

“Yeah. Kinda wish I could go back there now, actually, but that’s a plane ticket I can’t afford right now.”

“Where did you go?”

“Victoria, British Columbia,” Richie admitted. “Dyed my hair, switched out my primary sword, rented a room on a floating B&B, and just played tourist for a month.”

“Sounds great. Hate to ask this, but – how long ago were you kidnapped?”

“Two and a half weeks ago. Matthew rescued me on Tuesday.”

“You couldn’t call sooner? Did you drop your phone in water or are you in the middle of nowhere again?”

“Sorry, Joe, my phone was stolen, and no, I’m not in the middle of nowhere. Hey, did you give Mac his warehouse key?”

“Yeah, which is how he found out you’d left town. You didn’t say goodbye to him.”

“Didn’t feel up to it. Figured I’d get a lecture about taking too many risks or some shit like that. Like I didn’t to try to convince those two headhunters that immortality’s better when you’re alive to enjoy it. Hey, did you hear that new album from Billy F. Gibbons?” Deliberately, Richie steered the conversation to blues music, wanting to hear Joe’s opinions and needing the sense of some normalcy.

“Joe, do you have Mac’s phone number? I didn’t keep it when he gave it to me, and he’s apparently called multiple people looking for me.”

“Sure, let me text it to you.”

Richie heard Joe fumble with his phone a moment before the notification of an incoming text from Joe Dawson arrived.

“You need anything, Richie?” Joe asked gently.

“No, I’m good, thanks, Joe.” Richie ended the call shortly thereafter.

He stared at the large-scale print of a photograph of the English countryside that hung on the wall of the living room, wishing he didn’t feel like if he waited any longer to make this call, he would never make it. Matthew was right, though: the circle of friends Richie shared with Duncan was small. Duncan had been the one to introduce him to Amanda and to Cory, among others. A handful more knew Duncan had had a student in the last two decades but had never met Richie. The immortal grapevine pinned Richie as a student of the Highlander, but the gossip didn’t seem to distinguish which MacLeod or that there was more than one. Richie had added to the confusion, choosing to spend an enlightening three weeks in Connor’s company back in 1999, while he explored New York City and its possibilities for a new home.

In Richie’s early years as an immortal, the connections between either Connor or Duncan MacLeod or both had felt too many to count. He had learned to stop mentioning he knew both Highlanders, wanting to be judged on his merits, not theirs. It was pure luck that he had not met Matthew earlier.

Once, Richie had thought the world of Duncan MacLeod. He had worshiped him as a hero – only to be struck by harsh reality. Amanda had been ruthless in her analysis of Richie’s chances for survival if he repaid her rescue by going right back to trusting Mac blindly. It had forced Richie to reevaluate just how many times he had been hurt or in danger because of proximity to the younger Highlander. He didn’t hate Duncan or fault Connor for not being there when he had needed him. Richie didn’t think either of them were particularly conducive to his long-term safety, given how they were primary targets in the Game.

Before he could talk himself out of the call, Richie dialed the number.

“Hello?” Duncan said, answering on the second ring.

For a moment, Richie said nothing, marshalling his courage. Then he said, “Mac, it’s Richie. I heard you were looking for me.”

“Oh, thank God, Richie, I was so worried! You didn’t call and no one I talked to seemed to know where you were. Amanda said she hadn’t seen you in two years.”

“That’s because she hasn’t,” Richie replied evenly, “except in videocalls.”

“Then where are you?”

“Baltimore. Please don’t ask anyone to check in on me.”

Bewildered, Mac asked, “Why not?”

“Because as much as I might look it, I’m not nineteen and haven’t been in a long time. You seem to keep forgetting I don’t need a substitute parental figure.”

“You make it sound like that’s something awful. I thought we were friends. Friends worry about each other.”

“Sure, but they don’t make plans for their friend’s lives down to where they’re living and working unless said friend asked for them to do so. I didn’t ask you to do that.” He let that sink in. “Listen, I wanted to let you know I’m fine, but I don’t want to be in the same city as you. I don’t know if you’ve paid attention, but it seems like every time we’re in the same place, trouble finds us, and I’m the one who gets hurt the most.”

“Richie, your imagination has always been one of the best –”

“I’m not,” Richie interrupted, enunciating, “imagining that. Seacouver was quiet in the two years before you showed up. I didn’t take any heads in that time. Everyone was looking for you, and if they found me instead, I talked them out of it or I got away.”

Silence met his words.

“I don’t need or want your help, Mac. Sorry, but if it means I’m not being your newest dojo’s manager, getting a college degree on your terms, then that’s the way it has to be.”

“I’m sorry, too, Richie. I should’ve asked you what you wanted,” Duncan replied, his voice husky with regret.

“Would you have listened?” Richie countered. “Or would you have dismissed it all as being not good enough? It feels like you have this picture in your head of who I’m supposed to be now.”

“Richie, you were camping out in my warehouse. I assumed that meant you were broke.”

“No, just cheap enough to not want to live in a rooming house again, sharing a communal bathroom. Your security on that warehouse is pathetic; I had to kick out a random dude and buy new locks. Also, look at what a studio apartment goes for these days. It’s not cheap.” Richie willed his teacher to believe him.

Duncan said nothing for a moment. “Then tell me what I don’t know, Richie, because I saw how you were living, and you let me assume rather than explain.”

“Are you willing to hear it?” Richie doubted.

“Do you think I won’t accept you for who you are?”

“Yes,” Richie said flatly. “Who I was when we met wasn’t good enough. I wanted to be that guy you were proud of, Mac, so I changed. After I took my first head, you kicked me right back onto the street, and then blamed me for not being more careful. How was I supposed to know some of us hunt other immortals through their students? Or that someone like Kristen existed? You knew who she was, Mac. You could’ve warned me before I ever met her.”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me then. Richie, I’m sorry. I messed up. That’s why I was hoping you and I could work together. It would give us time to fix some of the things I’ve realized is lacking in your training.” Duncan took a breath before adding, “Though I’m now wondering, since you won against two other immortals, who you’ve been training with.”

Richie stared at his phone incredulously, aware there had been a time when he would have gladly welcomed such training from Duncan. He wasn’t about to shatter Duncan’s illusions about Amanda; that was part of his payment to her for what she had done to save his life. “Friends I’d rather not name,” he told the other man now. “It’s been decades, Mac. What do you think you could teach me I haven’t found out on my own, playing the Game or spending time with people willing to share their knowledge?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. I’ve missed you. I’ve been trying to reconnect with everyone after spending time on holy ground.”

Richie blew out a breath. He had heard both Duncan and Connor had gone back to Scotland, to sacred ground, to heal and rebuild a family bond an evil immortal’s machinations had nearly shattered in 2000. “Well, congratulations, you’ve connected with me. Now please leave me alone.”

“Richie, do you hate me?”

“Hate is not the word I’d use,” Richie replied, feeling the pang of mixed emotions. “How I feel about you isn’t the problem. The problem is the magnetic pull of trouble that happens when you and I are in the same city at the same time.” He hardened his voice, suspecting the other man would keep pushing. “Please respect me when I say I don’t need or want you in Baltimore. I planned to be here before you moved back to Seacouver.”

Duncan sighed, sounding frustrated. “I moved back because Joe mentioned you were here. You dropped out of sight in 1997 and when I finally unpacked what happened then, nobody knew where you were.”

“That’s because the only person who knew was Amanda.”

Duncan swore. “She told me she didn’t know where you were.”

“Which was probably not a lie at the time you asked her,” Richie pointed out.

“I don’t understand why you seem so intent on avoiding me. It’s been two decades since you and I spent any time together; I was hoping to change that.”

“Sorry, Mac, but you and me in the same city doubles my chances of being used against you, and that’s not a set of odds I want to play with,” Richie told him. “You keep thinking it’s me not being careful and I’ll keep telling you it’s not me, it’s the Universe. If it feels like I’m avoiding you, I’m sorry it hurts you, but that’s the way it has to be.”

Duncan sighed again. “Fine. I’ll let you be. Please don’t be a stranger, and watch your head, Richie.”

“You too, Mac.” Richie hung up the phone and felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had no guarantee that Duncan would not visit Baltimore, or send Connor his way, but at least Richie had made his position clear. Taking a deep breath, Richie closed his eyes briefly, hoping that he could make Baltimore his home for the near future without adding the lure of a Highlander to the mix.

 _You don’t know Matthew that well yet_ , Richie reminded himself. _You don’t know if he’s an immortal magnet. He’s old enough to be one. The immortal grapevine doesn’t always do a good job of identifying people if they change their names._

Richie sighed. He had committed to this course of action and, unless he wanted to bury his pride and ask for money from one of friends, would have to see it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and suggestions for where this goes next are welcome! :-)


	6. Chapter 6

Matthew returned from church service to find Richie in the backyard, going through a series of sword drills. Richie wore jeans and a t-shirt, no doubt an acknowledgement that fighting another immortal often took place in whatever you happened to be wearing at the time. Matthew noted that the rapier Richie carried was slightly wider than most, a consideration no doubt made to the fact that most immortals used broadswords. The traditional slender rapier tended to shatter under the impact of a broadsword strike; a wider blade better handled the impact. From what Matthew could see of the hilt, it was silver and intricately designed. The design reminded Matthew of one of Amanda’s rapiers, and he wondered if she had also gifted the rapier to him.

At Matthew’s approach, Richie stopped his exercise before greeting, “Hey, how was church?”

“Good,” Matthew replied. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Thanks, but I was just doing this to blow off some steam while I waited for you,” Richie said. He took a sip of water from a glass he had set on the patio table.

“Did someone upset you?” Concerned, Matthew stepped closer.

Richie smiled ruefully. “I called Duncan and told him to leave me alone. He didn’t take it well.”

“It can be difficult to accept that someone you taught is going in a different direction than you,” Matthew noted neutrally. “You’re not responsible for how he reacts to things, Richie. That’s on him. I’m more concerned about how you feel.”

Exhaling heavily, Richie said, “Better for having said what I did. Doesn’t change the fact I expect him to show up here at some point, probably claiming since he was on the east coast anyway, he wanted to see an old friend or two here in the city.”

“You didn’t say you were staying with me?” Surprised, Matthew looked at Richie.

“No. I just said I was staying with a friend,” Richie said. “Figured even if he was a friend of yours, since you didn’t tell him your address, I wouldn’t tell him you were here.” He shrugged slightly.

“Your concern for my security is appreciated,” Matthew said. He paused, an idea popping into his head. “Did you want to spar against me? I know this backyard isn’t the biggest, but it makes for some interesting close-quarters decisions. My neighbors will watch, but if you don’t mind using wooden blades so we don’t alarm them, I’m willing.”

“Sure,” Richie said eagerly.

“Let me get changed out of this suit,” Matthew said, “and grab the practice blades.”

Fifteen minutes later, Matthew returned, wearing jeans and an FBI training academy t-shirt. The blades he brought were sized and weighted to mimic a medieval broadsword. He was curious to see how Richie adjusted his technique.

He quickly discovered he need not have worried. Matthew had expected Richie, who had learned from a Highlander who fought with a katana, to have picked up the distinct style typical of a katana fighter, but that was not the case. Richie merely picked the wooden practice blade, remarked, “Broadswords are so cliché,” and attacked.

Laughing, Matthew countered the attack. “And rapiers aren’t?”

“Eh, it worked for the Three Musketeers,” Richie said, taking the step back to consider a new strategy.

“Don’t you ever get tired of having to counter the force on a blade like yours?” Matthew attacked, which was countered.

“Sometimes,” Richie said, “but that’s a little pain compared to the whole.” He flashed a grin.

The fight was brutal, but Matthew’s experience edged out Richie’s in the end. Had they been fighting for real, Matthew understood Richie would have given him a serious challenge. He stepped back, bowed to his opponent, who returned the gesture, and said, “You fight well, but you rely heavily on speed. In a prolonged fight, you’ll wear yourself out.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been working on my stamina for years. I have a broadsword, but it belonged to Graham Ashe. I used it for a while until Amanda gave me this one.”

Matthew blinked. He had heard Graham Ashe, one of the Game's most sought-after teachers, had died back in the mid-1600s but had assumed his sword had gone to the victor. “How did you get Graham Ashe’s broadsword?”

Richie grimaced. “Mac had picked it up after Ashe died, since Haresh Clay refused it, claiming it was the sword of a coward. Mac gave it to me after he defeated Clay, who had gone after me and snapped my original rapier with his hands. I used Ashe’s broadsword for about a year, which is how I know how to fight with one.”

Startled by that news, Matthew looked at Richie, puzzled. “Haresh only hunted those who angered him. Why did Haresh go after you? What did you do to him?”

“I killed his lover, playing the Game as a headhunter,” Richie said flatly. He set the wooden blade down on the patio table, treating it as if it was sharp steel.

Matthew noted the gesture, which spoke volumes. “How did you get to the point of thinking you had to play the Game that way?”

“Mac nearly killed me when he took a Dark Quickening. I escaped thanks to a friend shooting him, but my faith in Mac was shattered. I thought he was out to get me and that I had to get better, fast, or he’d hunt me down. Joe tried to talk me out of it. He convinced me I should at least call Connor, but that didn’t help much.” Richie’s face reflected bitter knowledge.

Matthew’s heart ached. “Where was Connor?”

“Dealing with his own shit,” Richie said sourly. “He wired me some cash; that was about the extent of what he could do. Told me he had a headhunter problem of his own and that he had faith I would make it.” He blew out a breath. “He told me later that if I had made it to New York, he would have made sure I was safe, but at the time, I took his words to mean I should stay away.”

“You had no one else to turn to?”

“Everyone I knew was, in my head, a possible target for Mac. Calling Connor was as much as I was willing to risk. You didn’t see Mac, Matthew. He wanted to kill everyone who got in his way. In my nightmares, he succeeds. Anyway, I ran as far as I could, picked fights, took heads, and lived on adrenaline, caffeine, bad food, and fear for about a year.” Richie took a deep breath. “I’m not proud of what I did then, but it taught me more about how to win than Mac ever taught me.”

Matthew stared, astonished at that statement.  “How long were you with Duncan, training, before he let you go?”

Richie laughed bitterly. “Let me go? More like, kicked me out because I’d refused to listen when he decreed I should let him handle another of us. I took my first head four months after my first death. Mac handed me a rapier and told me I was in the Game now and, because I was, I couldn’t stay with him any longer. He was angry and wanted to punish me.”

“By letting you go, when you barely knew what you could do with your body in a fight?” The more Matthew learned of Richie’s history, the more astonished he was to know that the younger immortal was still alive. A lesser man would have died years ago. As it was, Matthew was starting to understand why Richie seemed so resilient despite having been recently kidnapped. “How old were you?”

“Nineteen. I’d been with Duncan for about a year at that point. I was reckless, impatient, and prone to jumping in without looking. I wanted to be a hero. My fault, really.”

“No,” Matthew countered, “that was your teacher’s fault for not making sure you could control that impatience and recklessness. Sending you away to teach you a lesson could have killed you, and he would have considered your death to be no less than what you deserved. That’s not how you teach someone to live, Richie. It’s how you prep them to die. Was there something else that happened before then, Richie?”

“Yeah, his longtime girlfriend died about two seconds before I did,” Richie said. “We were shot by the same mugger. I got up; she didn’t.”

“Then every time he saw you, Duncan remembered that grief,” Matthew surmised. “And with you being someone who needed a lot of coaching and patience, he reacted as though her death was your fault. You would have been better served to have been with someone else, Richie, someone who didn’t blame you for something out of your control.” Matthew paused. “And probably someone less likely to be a headhunter’s target, so you wouldn’t be as tempted to play the hero and would have had time to learn how to harness those traits.”

Richie stared at Matthew, his eyes widening. “Son of a bitch,” he spat. “I’ve always wondered. Mac was so disappointed anytime I had to go back and ask him for help.” He breathed out, shaking his head at the memories. “I take it you spent more time with your students before you let them be on their own?”

Matthew nodded. “Most of time, it’s been several years.” He studied the younger immortal, who looked resigned. “Duncan’s part of the reason why you don’t have Ashe’s broadsword with you now.”

Richie nodded. “Too many emotions and memories mixed up with it. Amanda pointed out that’s a good way to lose your head, so she gave me a new rapier.”

“Where is the sword now?”

“It’s in storage in Paris, along with the rest of my clothes.” He gave Matthew a wry smile. “Amanda insisted I needed a bigger wardrobe and kept acquiring me things to wear.”

“I can see where that would happen,” Matthew noted, amused. “Did you want to spar again?”

Richie shook his head. “Not right now. I wouldn’t mind doing it again, though.” He paused before adding, “If you see anything I’m doing I need to fix, please tell me. I sometimes feel like I’ve been learning how to be an immortal the hard way, like when you learn how to do something on the job instead of going to class.”

Matthew chuckled briefly at that description. “Most of us have been learning as we go, Richie. Those that don’t learn how to survive and thrive as the decades roll by tend not to live long.”

Richie grinned. “True.”

“But if you want help with your footing and swordsmanship, or anything else, I’m happy to give it.”

“Appreciate it,” Richie said gratefully. “Just to be clear: I’m not looking for another teacher. I’m more interested in a friend who happens to be like me: immortal, and who’s willing to share what he knows.”

“Understood. I’m not looking for another student, but I can always use another friend.”

Richie grinned at that. “One more thing I should probably tell you, so you’re not blindsided. I’m primarily into women, but there have been a few guys who have caught my eye. That a problem?”

“Only if you happen to chase the same people as me,” Matthew noted, returning Richie’s grin, “and the rule about overnight guests goes both ways. I promise not to bring home anyone you haven’t met ahead of time.”

“Your house –” Richie began, only to stop when he saw Matthew shaking his head.

“You live here too. My work tends to consume my life, so anyone I do date tends to be someone I want for a longer-term relationship.”

“I figured as much,” Richie said with a nod. “I like having sex with people, but usually the ‘I have a roommate, can we go to your place instead’ works. If it ever becomes someone more important than that –” he smiled ruefully “– it’ll be after I’ve had some time to get settled and have a job where it makes sense to expend the time and money to do it right.” He looked at Matthew. “Watching Tessa and Mac together, hearing her talk about why she’d stayed with him for twenty years, made me want that kind of forever. Have you had a relationship like that?”

Matthew nodded. “Been married a few times. My last long-term relationship lasted seven years; he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with someone who lived a less dangerous life and who could be public about being gay.”

“I’ve heard law enforcement is still very homophobic.”

“Some places more than others, unfortunately,” Matthew agreed. “The FBI has evolved with the times, but there are some offices where ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ still pervades.”

Matthew glanced at the time and saw they had been sparring for about two hours. “Did you want to get something to eat for an early dinner? I don’t know about you, but I’m craving something that goes well with beer,” Matthew smiled as he added, “and football.”

Chuckling, Richie replied, “Long as you don’t mind paying for better beer. I’m a beer and liquor snob, unfortunately, comes with having been a bartender for a long as I have been. I’m going to have to learn to root for the Baltimore Ravens after cheering for the Seahawks for years, if I want my tips to be good. Want to get me familiar with who’s who?”

Matthew laughed. “Don’t worry; I have you covered.”

“Awesome. I’m going to shower and change. Meet you in the living room in about twenty minutes?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

As Matthew got ready for dinner, he thought about what Richie had shared. The revelations deeply disturbed him. He could see why Duncan would want to try to fix those mistakes, and why Richie was adamant that the opportunity to do so had long passed. Richie was not the same man he had been all those years ago; time, experience, and Amanda’s tutelage had ensured that.

The revelations also explained why Duncan had never mentioned having a student the entire time Matthew spent in Seacouver all those years ago. Granted, Matthew had been out of his mind, going after his student for something that had happened years before – but it added weight to the way Duncan had been so passionate about not wanting Matthew to do something he would later regret.

Matthew sighed. He couldn’t fix the past. All he could do now was focus on why he continued to cultivate friendships with others of his kind. It was freeing to know they could spar without bloodshed, to talk about the way others hunted them; to relax, damn it, in the face of such a threat. To know that they were going into a pub, get a little drunk, talk smack about football, and know that if someone challenged them tonight, they would have each other’s backs. Matthew wanted this moment to last, to take the joy of this Sunday afternoon into the week, and let it carry him through the dark corners of his work.

The pub Richie chose was a medium-sized pub that could have easily been anywhere in the US. The pub had been set up as a hipster-themed pub, complete with pricey themed cocktails and food, but the theme had been abandoned, and the pub was in transition to a straightforward blue-collar sports pub. Matthew liked its lack of pretension immediately, but he watched Richie’s reaction.

“Right, this is going to be interesting,” Richie noted as they took seats at a table that allowed them clear view of the exits. He studied the glasses of beer being served to the table nearest them. “Stick to the bottled beer; we’ll be safer.”

Matthew chuckled. “Why?”

“Too much air in the lines. Makes the beer foam more. Plus, they’re serving it in frosted glasses. Means they don’t have a clue about proper beer temperature.”

Smiling, Matthew said, “I can see drinking alcohol with you is going to be an education. Beer is supposed to be warm, not cold.”

Richie grinned. “What, still clinging to old English traditions about beer?” he teased. “Proper Guinness needs a nitro tap, or else you don’t get the right taste. And some beer is better cold, but not frozen.”

“I’ll have you know I’m very Southern,” Matthew feigned insult in his best Southern drawl, making the other man laugh.

They waited twenty minutes for service before Richie shook his head. “This place is a bust,” he told Matthew. “Let’s go across the street; I think that’s where everyone else went. I heard the table nearby ask if the server could change the channel to the football game and she said she didn’t know where the remote was.”

Matthew surveyed the crowd in the bar, which consisted of them, and five others. Only one table seemed to be interested in watching the baseball game on the bar’s lone TV. “Yeah, let’s go. Besides, someplace called ‘The Dijon Saloon’ should be enlightening.”

“I can see you being a sheriff in the Old West,” Richie said.

“I was,” Matthew agreed as they exited the pub and headed across the street. “I was nowhere near the OK Corral, in case you’re wondering.”

Richie shrugged. “You strike me as someone who would have been trying to do what he could to keep the peace in whatever town you wound up in.”

“I did. It was a lawless time; everyone wanted to do something to better themselves, and not everyone cared about how they got there. A lot of people went West because they had a criminal past and wanted to escape it.”

“And you wouldn’t have known to not to trust them. You wouldn’t have any way to check.”

Matthew nodded as he pulled open the door of the Dijon Saloon. As expected, it had a Western theme, but the prices and selections for the drinks and food were not pretentious. The bar staff knew its target audience, and the multiple TV screens were set to show the three live games currently being played.

“Now this is better,” Richie observed, checking out a tray of beer held by a passing waitress.

“What, the beer or the lady?” Matthew teased.

“You say that like I have to choose,” Richie shot back, and Matthew laughed. The remainder of the evening passed quickly as they ate burgers, drank beer, checked out the other patrons without any real intent to pursue any of them, and cheered on the Baltimore Ravens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback always welcome! :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rhi for brainstorming.  
> This chapter brought to you by Eric Church's "Monsters" and Alec Benjamin's "Boy in the Bubble."

_September 20_

The ringing of his phone woke Richie out of a sound sleep, just shy of 5 AM. Blearily, he reached for it, growling, “Hello?”

“Happy Birthday to you,” Cory sang.

Certain if he hung up, Cory would just call back repeatedly until he sang the whole song, including the [two verses](https://www.classicfm.com/music-news/extra-happy-birthday-lyrics/) most people didn’t know about, Richie put the phone on speaker and dozed until Cory stopped singing.

“Thanks, Cory,” he said blearily, and hung up. It was too early to be awake, though Matthew would be soon to beat the traffic for his commute.

Richie’s phone promptly rang again. “You’re not getting off that easy, Richie,” Cory told him. “You’re the one who introduced me to the Arrogant Worms version.”

“Cory, for the love of thievery, let me go back to sleep. I wasn’t dreaming of bad shit for once.”

“Oh. In that case, shall I sing you a lullaby?”

“No, and that’s not an invitation for you to try, either.” He hung up and promptly fell back asleep.

In the room next door, Matthew smiled as he heard his former student singing, Cory’s smooth tone instantly recognizable to him. Checking the time on his bedside clock, he saw it was just shy of the time he would normally get up and shrugged. Stretching, he made a mental note it was Richie’s birthday, and proceeded to text Cory.

_You woke me up, too._

_As if you wouldn’t be up soon anyway,_ Cory texted back. _The day you sleep in past six AM is the day something is seriously wrong._

Matthew chuckled. _You mentioned something about giving Richie a gift?_

_Yeah, but we’re dealing with shipping delays thanks to Hurricane Florence. It’s looking more likely I’d get it to him faster if I drove it there myself. Or hell, waited until Christmas._

_Must be some gift if you’re willing to drive it here. That’s over eight hours in a car, not counting gas and pit stops,_ Matthew noted.

 _Richie’s not just some guy_ , Cory replied. _He’s one of the best friends I have now. Go to work, Matthew. Let Richie sleep in; it’s his birthday. But keep this thought in mind: if he hasn’t fallen apart yet, he will, and he will need someone who knows he will hide rather than let you see him that vulnerable._

 _I’ll keep that in mind_ , Matthew wrote. _If he needs someone other than me, I’ll call you._

 _Thanks, Matthew_ , Cory texted. _Don’t have too much fun at work. You scare the criminals when you smile like that._

Amused, Matthew grinned as he set his phone down on the nightstand beside his bed and went to get ready for work.

When Richie woke again, it was nearly 10 AM. He stretched, feeling logy for having slept that much, and used the third-floor workout room to do a set of proper katas. He then showered and changed into a t-shirt and jeans. As he still had some of the cash Matthew had given him the previous week, he treated himself to a birthday brunch and wandered through one of the art museums. Richie was pleased to find one of Tessa’s massive metalworks in the museum, one he hadn’t seen previously. Curious to know when she had worked on it, he checked the date and saw it was from a few years before he had met her and Duncan. Richie stared at it a while, wondering if he was being unfair to her memory if he decided he hated a piece of her art, before remembering she sometimes had hated her own art. He hoped that was the case was this one, given she had usually made something that looked more abstract and less like six giant earthworms.

He had just stepped out of the museum when his phone rang again, this time with a number he didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Richard Ryan?”

“Yes, but I go by Richie.”

“Ah, yes. Richie, this is Guillermina Burgos Tejeda of the Plated Restaurant Group. You applied for a bartending job at The Empire and Cross, which is our gastropub. We’d like to schedule an interview with you if you’re still interested.”

“I am.”

“Before I get to scheduling that interview, I’d like to go over a few things with you. The Plated Restaurant Group does not allow visible body piercings other than traditional earring holes. Tattoos cannot be on the face or neck. No drinking on the job unless for specific, authorized circumstances, not even on your break. We do not tolerate drug or alcohol abuse. You come in drunk, stoned, or hungover, we will send home you with no pay or tip share for the day. No exceptions. Any of those deal breakers?”

“No, ma’am. I understand there’s a statewide ban on smoking indoors?”

“Yes, so you’ll have to deal with people who think it means they can vape inside. The answer’s no, and that goes for staff as well.”

“Be nice to work somewhere where I’m not breathing in smoke all the time,” Richie commented.

“Yes, it is,” Guillermina said, a smile in her voice.

“Does the Empire and Cross have a dress code?”

“Yes, black or blue jeans with no holes or embellishments and non-slip black shoes. We’ll provide you with the staff uniform t-shirts; depending on how often you’re scheduled, we’ll provide you with a minimum of two and up to five.”

“Is the cost of the uniform deducted from my pay?”

“No,” Guillermina said, sounding amused. “I know other restaurants do that, but our CEO was a dishwasher; he understands how difficult it is to make a living when you’re restaurant staff.”

“How is pay calculated?” Richie asked. As he expected, the answer was minimum wage plus tips. He continued to ask several more questions, wanting to be sure he understood what he was committing to before he walked into the interview.

Sounding pleased he had asked questions, Guillermina closed the call with, “Would you be able to come in for an interview tomorrow at 10:30 AM?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome. Ask for me if you don’t see a short Mexican woman with blonde hair at the host stand. Please be prepared to show your skills. We will provide all bartender’s tools, mixers, and alcohol, so you need not bring your own. You’ll be making three cocktails, including one from our menu. Given your resume, I don’t think that will be problem for you.”

“No, ma’am,” Richie assured her. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She disconnected the line; Richie pumped his fist into the air.

As if that had been the magic break, two more requests for interviews came in over the course of the next two hours. He scheduled both, hoping for the best, and continued to wander the museum.

When his phone rang again, he was exiting the museum. He checked the display and grinned as he flipped the app to video chat. “Happy Birthday, Richie,” Amanda and Nick chorused.

“Check your email; we sent you a present,” Amanda told him.

Richie switched apps and saw he had gotten a $200 Amazon gift card. His eyes widened at the amount before he remembered both Nick and Amanda tended to be generous with their gifts. “Thanks, you two.”

“You’re welcome,” Amanda told him. “I thought about gifting you with something more substantial, but I wasn’t sure where to ship it.”

“I’ll send you my address,” he promised them. “Just make sure it’s something that’s okay to go to a PO box.”

“I’ll make sure it’s packaged properly,” Nick added. “Customs is being nitpicky of late.” He paused. “I hate to mention this, since it’s your birthday, but Duncan called here, looking for you. He said something about you fighting two headhunters at once. He made it sound like you didn’t tell him you practiced against us.”

“Now why would he tell him that?” Amanda demanded, insulted on Richie’s behalf.

Certain they would devolve into squabbling, Richie interjected, “Because that would mean also telling him that I trained with you, and that’s a conversation I don’t want to have? Amanda plays the helpless female when he’s around, Nick.”

“But you’re not helpless,” Nick protested, looking at Amanda.

She laughed softly. “Because you didn’t need me to be.” She looked at Richie. “But yes, he’s worried something awful happened to you. I told him I didn’t know where you’d wandered off to, but I was certain you were fine.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are fine, are you not?”

“Now I am,” he hedged. “And it’s my birthday, so that’s all you’re getting. I don’t want to talk about that. I may get a job soon; I have three interviews between tomorrow morning and Friday afternoon.”

“That’s great news!” Amanda applauded. “Oh, you’re in Baltimore. I recognize that building. Do they still have that one godawful Tessa Noël piece, the one that looks like she welded a bunch of giant earthworms together?

Richie choked back a laugh at that perfect description. “Yes?”

“Oh good. It means it’s still not in the park they threatened to put it in. It would’ve blocked my view.”

“Even if you’re not there to see it?”

“Even if,” Amanda replied tartly. She blew Richie a kiss. “Enjoy the rest of your birthday, Richie.”

“Thanks, Amanda.”

“I’d give you a hug if you were here,” Nick told him. “Consider yourself hugged, Richie.”

“Thanks, Nick. You be careful out there.”

“Same to you.”

Grinning, Richie disconnected the call and headed for the nearest bus stop to head to Matthew’s house. He put on his headphones so he could listen to the music he had loaded onto his phone and ignore the other passengers.

Halfway there, his phone rang again. Seeing it was Matthew, he quickly answered it. “What’s up?”

“Could you meet me at my work? I have news.”

“I’ll be there. I was headed back to your house from the Baltimore Art Museum, so it’ll be awhile before I get there.” Dread mixed with hope filled Richie, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He rang the bell for the next stop, then used his phone to figure out how to get to the FBI office from where he was. For a moment, using a ride-sharing app tempted him, but then he remembered his credit card had already taken enough hits. He wound up walking several blocks to get to a bus that would get him close to the office, then walking the rest of the way.

Matthew was waiting for him in the lobby, just past security. Richie never failed to be amused that the magic that allowed him to hide his sword, provided he was wearing it or was near enough to said weapon, also masked any X-ray or metal detectors’ ability to see it as a sword. The jacket registered on the security scanners as merely having an extra-thick back brace. Richie stepped through the scanner, picked up his jacket and slid it back on before meeting Matthew, who directed him to the reception desk.

Richie checked in at the desk; Matthew signed for him. The receptionist handed Richie a printed sticker badge that said, “Authorized Visitor” and included both his and Matthew’s names. Matthew waited for Richie to apply the sticker to his shirt and then led the way to one of the interview rooms, where Austin was seated and waiting for them.

“What’s going on, guys?” Richie asked as he sat down.

“The Baltimore PD wants to interview you and ask you more questions,” Matthew told him.

Richie looked at Matthew and Austin, both of whom looked entirely too pleased to be giving up a witness. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here?”

“You don’t have to talk to them,” Austin replied. “The coroner identified another victim this afternoon; it’s someone from out of state, which means we get the case back.”

“Good for you, but why am I here?”

“Because that also means we need to ask you more questions, the same ones you would’ve had to answer for the Baltimore PD,” Matthew told him. “Was there anything you wanted to add to your previous statement?”

Richie let out a slow breath, the joy of his birthday evaporating as he realized he had let himself forget, for a few hours, that Jolene was still alive and a threat to others.

“Take your time,” Austin urged, leaning forward as Richie sat down reluctantly. “Sometimes people remember things they didn’t remember the first time; that’s why we’re here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Richie said. He thought for a moment. “I was so excited to find a place to stay, y’know? And the house was right in a neighborhood full of bars, so I could walk to work, once I found work.”

“What do you remember about the woman who kidnapped you?” Matthew prompted.

“She reminded me of the actress who plays Pepper Potts in the Marvel movies, except if she was like, not model skinny but a size 16,” Richie told him.

“How do you know about women’s sizes?” Austin asked him.

“I like women a lot,” Richie replied, smiling briefly. “And one of my friends has been modeling professionally for years; she does plus-size modeling. That’s why the way Jolene looked to me looked wrong – not like she was trying to hide her size but didn’t know how to dress for it.”

“When she was talking to you, did you notice any quirks?” Matthew asked.

Richie thought. “She kept saying she would get blackjack when I died. She was stuck on how I messed up her hand, because I wasn’t dead yet like the others. I fascinated her.”

“Do you think she’d try to find you because you escaped?” Austin asked.

“Oh yeah,” Richie affirmed. “Because I’m her lucky number 21. I imagine she’s probably gone back to that warehouse, trying to figure out everything.”

Matthew looked grim at that news, and Richie could see the implications spinning through his mind.

Austin noticed too, and asked, “What do you think she’d do if she found you?”

“Besides kidnap me and try to kill me?” Richie asked incredulously. “Probably figure out some way to preserve me so she could keep a piece of me as her good luck. She told me she kept a finger from every one of her victims to help her keep count.”

He paused. “And she would bite the back of her hand when she was frustrated and then berate herself. She had a razor – not a box cutter kind of razor but more like the kind you put on a steel tool and then screw it down. What’s it called…oh, right, X-ACTO knife.” Then he remembered something else. “Oh! And she said she liked the walls because the walls never talked, and they were safe. And she still has my Joe’s Bar t-shirt and my leather bracelet.”

“Joe’s Bar?” Matthew looked puzzled.

“It’s a blues club in Seacouver, owned by Joe Dawson, a friend of mine. I worked there before moving here, so it says ‘Joe’s Blues Bar Staff, Seacouver, Washington’ on the front of the t-shirt. It’s blue and has a few holes in it now. She took it off me when I was unconscious.”

“What does the bracelet look like?” Austin asked.

“It’s braided black leather with three metal beads with white crystals and two blue beads on either side of the metal beads, with a magnetic clasp. The clasp has my initials on the underside.” Richie said. He paused, remembering Amanda had given it to him, and added, “At least, the beads are supposed to be crystals. A friend of mine gave it to me. I wouldn’t put it past her to have given me diamonds and sapphires instead of Swarovski crystals, and told me it was something cheaper so I wouldn’t freak out over how much it cost. I used to play with the beads all the time.”

“Was it a narrow or wide bracelet?”

“Narrow,” Richie said. “I thought it fell off – the magnetic clasp was fiddley.”

“Did she tell you anything before you escaped?” Austin asked.

“She said she killed the guy who hurt her when she was a kid, and then when she was satisfied she’d killed anyone who reminded her of him, she kept killing because death fascinated her.”

Matthew and Austin took turns asking several follow-up questions to clarify what had happened, then Richie was asked to work with a police sketch artist. Austin and Matthew then let Richie leave.

His mood now thoroughly in the dumps, Richie headed out of the FBI office and towards the nearest bus stop, intending to head back to Matthew’s house. When his phone buzzed with an incoming text from Matthew, he nearly rejected it because he didn’t want to read what he had to say. Courtesy and curiosity demanded he look. With a deep sigh, he did so.

_Are you on the bus home already?_

No, Richie texted back.

_Get on the CityLink Yellow Line and get off at the stop in Pigtown; I’ll take you home from there._

For a minute, Richie wanted to shout, “It’s not _my_ home!” He kept silent, unwilling to draw the attention of the other people waiting at the bus stop. He did, however, follow Matthew’s directions. Ten minutes later, the incoming sense of an immortal preceded Matthew pulling up in a blue sedan. Richie got into the car; Matthew waited until he’d fastened his seatbelt before merging smoothly into traffic.

“You could’ve warned me,” Richie noted.

“I wanted to see if your story changed,” Matthew replied evenly, glancing at him. “Understand, Richie, doing my job means I have to treat you like any other witness for getting official information. It doesn’t change our friendship.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Richie retorted, crossing his arms.

“No, and I don’t expect you to,” Matthew said. He waited until they were at a stop light to look at Richie. “One more thing: you told us that you fascinated Jolene. Was it because you didn’t stay dead?”

“Yeah,” Richie said bitterly. “It frustrated and fascinated her. She thought it was perfect that her lucky number 21 was someone who couldn’t stay dead. I refused to tell her why. She’s cunning, Matthew. I wouldn’t put it past her to be hiding in plain sight, waiting until she can come find me.” He looked out the window, hating he had to discuss this again.

“Thank you, Richie. That makes a difference. I’m sorry that rehashing it means bringing you down on your birthday. To make up for it, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

Richie said nothing for a moment, trying to remember when he mentioned his birthday to Matthew. Matthew must’ve heard Cory’s phone call earlier that day, then Richie remembered what else Cory had said about Matthew. “You’re Cory Raines’s teacher.”

“Yes.” Since the light turned green, Matthew sped through the intersection. “Does that change what you think of me?”

Richie half-laughed. “I always figured whoever taught him was someone with at least some integrity. He has more honor than he’d like you to believe.” He studied Matthew a moment. “Ok, now I have to ask. How old are you?”

“796, and yes, I know when my birthday is, and no, I don’t celebrate it.”

“Because everything you’ve ever wanted isn’t something you can ask someone to give you?” Richie asked.

Matthew chuckled. “True, but the things I want aren’t things. They’re experiences.” He paused, needing to know one more thing. “If we arrest Jolene and she goes to prison, will you be okay with that? You won’t want to make sure she doesn’t experience immortality?”

“Yeah, because hunting others leads to madness and trouble. When I was nineteen, following Mac’s lead, I would’ve chafed at you not hunting Jolene down and gone after her myself.”

“What’s changed?”

Richie shook his head. “Realizing that’s an easy way to get arrested for murder. Plus,” he let out a breath, “I don’t like playing the Game anymore than I have to these days. Doesn’t stop me wanting to go after Jolene, though.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d rather not spend another night in jail if I can help it.”

“Given you’ve been spending time with my knave of a student and Amanda, I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew how to get yourself out of jail,” Matthew told him. “You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t want to take care of the problem Jolene represents.”

Richie barked a laugh. “Why does everyone assume if my two best friends are thieves, I’m one too?”

“Birds of a feather?” Matthew mused, glancing at him when they were stopped at a light.

Richie chuckled at that. “More like I’m not going to judge them for what they do. All I’ve ever asked them is that I not be an accessory or an accomplice.”

“Cory keeps his promises, but Amanda’s held to that?”

Richie nodded. “In her way. She insisted that I learn how to be a better thief, just because it would make me view security differently, but I drew the line at actually being one. I’ve had enough run-ins with the law in my life. If you’ve known Amanda a while, you know the depths of her loyalty run deep.”

Matthew smiled ruefully. “Much to my annoyance on occasion, but yes.” He checked where they were and realized they were quickly moving out of downtown. “Speaking of experiences, if I keep on driving, we won’t have decided on where you want to eat, and we’ll wind up having to turn around.”

“Well, we will have to turn around anyway. The place I thought of is back that way,” Richie pointed, naming the brewpub.

Matthew grinned and made a U-turn at the next light.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rhi, Torra K, and Tazlet for brainstorming. Shoutout to Torra K for coming up with some of the best ways to kill someone I've ever read.
> 
> Hollywood death rules apply here.

The following morning, Matthew considered the case again. The Baltimore PD had assembled a very detailed case file, indicating that they had investigated Jolene Clark. Jolene was 29, born and raised in Baltimore. Jolene had been abandoned at birth and adopted at seven years old. Her high school transcript revealed she had been an average student. She had attended the Community College of Baltimore County in 2007, taking their dental assistant certificate program, and had passed the oral radiography certification. She had worked as a dental lab assistant for Baltimore Complete Family Dental Group, a mid-sized dental practice, but had stopped showing up for work in mid-August. Her coworkers thought she was friendly but a little creepy, one even citing the fact that she never talked about her personal life and that she never wanted to socialize outside of work with anyone. Another cited her refusal to attend any work events, such as the annual summer picnic and the holiday party, even though she had been working at the practice for eight years. She had previously worked in another, smaller dental practice, which had closed when the owner had died of a heart attack. The Baltimore PD noted that the death had happened when Jolene was 21. It was also noted that her disappearance from her current job coincided with a request for her to update her vaccinations.

The detectives also noted that Jolene’s bedroom looked straight out of an ad, as if she had seen one and had bought everything in that single photo. They had not found a laptop, phone, or tablet. The bedroom was scrupulously neat and clean; the closet was also organized, though full of clothes. Matthew frowned as he studied the closet photo; it looked off to him.

Austin saw him flipping through the house and crime scene photos and said, “I got to thinking last night after we talked to Richie. If Jolene didn’t kill him, and he escaped, she’s probably looking for him.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Matthew agreed.

“She’s smart enough to have kept the utilities paid on the house she stole but not smart enough to know that killing the guy who owned this warehouse would eventually cause the utilities to stop being paid,” Austin commented. “That also means she’s smart enough to know we’ll be looking for her.”

“I don’t think she intended Django to be her next to last victim,” Matthew noted. “I think she meant the guy who owned the warehouse to be last. Richie accelerated her timeline.”

“From the sounds of it, he fought her. Given the pattern, she was used to people dying of the drug cocktail she administered. Synthetic marijuana laced with rat poison on top of chloroform? Hell of a way to die.”

“He was dehydrated when I found him. Another few hours, he might have died of thirst,” Matthew commented, and froze.

“How much you want to bet Jolene knew that?” Austin asked. “If she’s expecting that he’s died, she’s going to want to see him.”

“Not going to take that bet,” Matthew said grimly. “Let’s pull up a list of funeral homes and start making calls. Health privacy laws mean she wouldn’t get far with asking the hospitals, and they’d tell her why, too. Funeral homes are a different matter.”

Austin printed out a list and they divided it based on proximity to the warehouse.

“Yes, hello, this is Agent Matthew McCormick of the FBI. I was wondering if anyone has contacted you about a Richie Ryan or a redheaded man, about 200 pounds?” Matthew asked. He hit paydirt on the four funeral homes closest to the warehouse. Austin added six more to the list.

“She’s looking for him. Where is he now?” Austin asked, concerned.

“Hopefully, at my house,” Matthew said.

Startled, Austin looked at him. “You took him in?”

“He had nowhere else to go and the shelters are full.” Needing to check, Matthew dialed Richie’s number.

“Let me guess: he’s a friend of a friend of yours,” Austin muttered. “You would’ve directed him somewhere else if you didn’t trust him that well.”

“As it turns out, yes,” Matthew said.

Austin shook his head, amused. “You ever going to introduce me any of these mystery friends or am I going to keep wondering?”

“You’ve met Richie,” Matthew countered, and his partner glared at him.

“He doesn’t count,” Austin grumbled. “You ever going to introduce me to that woman I saw you with in June? Dark brown hair so dark it looked black, pale skin, curves like God intended?”

Certain he meant Ceirdwyn, Matthew ignored him. He liked Austin but didn’t need the complication of his work partner dating his teacher.

“Hey, Matthew,” Richie greeted on the fourth ring, sounding slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I forgot my phone was in the living room. I was up on the third floor working out. What’s up?”

“Are you planning on going anywhere today?”

Richie said nothing for a moment. “I have an interview in an hour, and another at 2:30,” he told Matthew.

“Where are they?”

“Why do you need to –” Richie fell silent as he figured it out. “You know where Jolene is. You’re going to hunt her, and you want me somewhere safe.”

“Yes.”

Richie took a deep breath. “I can’t pass up the interviews, Matthew. I need to work.”

“I understand. Will you tell me where you’ll be, so if I need to send someone to get you, I can? I need you to be safe.”

Richie gave both addresses, which Matthew quickly noted on the pad he kept by the phone for such a purpose. “Watch your head, Matthew. She thinks she’s clever and better than other people.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Matthew promised. “Thanks, Richie.”

“You’re welcome.” Not waiting for another word, Richie disconnected the line.

Austin looked at him. “Kid staying put?”

“He’s not a kid,” Matthew felt compelled to defend him. “But no, he’s not, but I know where he’ll be.”

Austin checked his notes. “Richie’s ID says he’s twenty-five. That’s ten years younger than me, so: kid.”

Matthew chuckled dryly. “The more important question, Austin, is where is Jolene?”

“I always thought it was ‘who was Jolene?’” Austin joked. “You think she’s hiding somewhere.”

“In the house. Richie said she said the walls were safe.”

Austin narrowed his gaze. “Baltimore PD’s been through that house.”

“We haven’t, not with a thermal sensor,” Matthew countered. “Remember, they were looking for evidence to help support the case. They found the chemicals she used to make her own chloroform, the rat poison, and the bags of spice. They didn’t look for her in the house after that first day because they assumed she wasn’t in it.”

Austin stared at him. “How the hell could she have escaped detection?”

“Trapdoors and secret rooms. Ever been in a house where it had a door in an attic where the locks were mounted on the wrong side? Or a house that served as a station for the Underground Railroad? Been long enough, someone might’ve bricked or drywalled over those parts of the house, but she could’ve found it.”

Austin hastily looked through the case notes before pulling up data on the house itself. “House dates to 1855; last renovation was in 2006.”

“Long enough for someone to have drywalled over the brick rather than paint it,” Matthew noted.

“You honestly think she found a way to squeeze herself into that kind of space?”

“Given she killed the owner of the house eight months ago, going by the date of death the coroner gave us,” Matthew replied dryly, “she probably had time to build all sorts of fun things in that house. Django was a carpenter, according to his union card. All she had to tell him was to build her a closet that looked like a part of an existing wall. ”

Austin’s face fell. He quickly flipped through the photos they had been sent of the interior of the house and pointed to the one that Matthew had found. “You think behind that wall of clothes is something.”

“Yes. Or –” He flipped to another one, this time in the living room. “This one. Look at how that wall juts out, like it’s covering a fireplace?”

“No one covers a fireplace; it’s considered a feature of the home, unless you hate fireplaces,” Austin noted.

“Then let’s get our boss to sign off on us going to check it out.”

* * *

Matthew took Austin with him. Neither was surprised to have their boss order them to go alone, with no backup, because of the expense involved and the fact that the crime scene investigation team would have cleared the scene.

“Once we get there,” Matthew told his partner, “we’ll need to spread out and check the walls. We’re looking for any concealed doors, any way someone could hide in a recess or a trapdoor, using removable and resealable wallpaper or other means.”

Austin made a face. “We only have one thermal sensor. Here’s hoping we can do this quickly.”

Matthew pulled their FBI-issue car into the nearest open space on the street, which was down the block from the house. Like most other homes in Baltimore, Jolene’s home was a brick house. It was semi-detached home, built in the Colonial style. A thin line of yard, complete with white picket fencing, separated it from its neighbor on one side of the house. The front yard had been landscaped, adding to the sense that the original owner had cared about his property, but it had not been mowed or weeded in weeks, and was now overgrown. Matthew noted that the Baltimore Cemetery was a few blocks away and wondered if that was part of why Jolene wanted to live in this house. It would fit if she was fascinated with death.

The faint sense of a pre-immortal teased him as he stood on the property, telling him Jolene had to be close. The crime scene tape on the front door had been taped at an angle, which made Matthew pause. The crime scene techs usually fixed any hastily taped scenes, a hallmark of their precision.

“Someone’s moved this since CID was here,” Matthew noted.

“Yeah, that doesn’t look right,” Austin agreed. He started to reach for the door.

“Be careful,” Matthew warned. “Richie said she thinks she’s clever. Door’s probably boobytrapped.”

Austin nodded and cautiously opened the door, instinctively stepping back as he pushed it open. “Are you seeing what I see?” he hissed, gesturing to the door, which now had a thin steel line across the upper half, right about neck height of the average person.

“Yeah. Nasty stuff, garrote wire,” Matthew remarked. “Stay put. Your opening the door must have triggered it.”

Austin grimaced. “Yeah, but speaking as an ex-military cop, line like that’s usually tied to a Claymore mine.”

Matthew studied the setup a moment before realizing the garotte was designed to snap in place when the door was opened. “Doesn’t look like it’s tied to anything else. Let me go first, see if I can loosen it so we don’t hurt ourselves on the way out.”

Austin nodded. Matthew squeezed past him, ducking underneath the lethal wire, and unhooked it from one of its nails. Austin breathed a sigh of relief as he took out the thermal sensor they had brought with them and stepped into the living room.

Sensing another immortal, especially a pre-immortal, was not an exact science, but Matthew was old enough and strong enough to be able to narrow it down to within two rooms. The thermal sensor backed up his instincts. It didn’t take long for the two FBI agents to detect a human-shaped body in the wall behind the closet in the upstairs master bedroom. Gesturing to his partner, Austin pointed to the closet.

“Jolene, this is the FBI. We know you’re here. Why don’t you come out and talk to us?” Austin called out as he stood before the closet. “My name’s Austin, my partner’s Matthew, and we just want to ask you a few questions.”

Matthew fully expected Jolene to drop out of the ceiling or a side wall. He was not prepared for the sound of someone scuttling across the ceiling, as if she had accessed the attic.

Swearing, Matthew followed the sound of her footsteps and the faint echo of her pre-immortality. Jolene emerged out of the bedroom at the end of the hall, crashing and swearing as she landed wrong. The Joe’s Bar t-shirt she wore had already several holes in it. Matthew suspected she had taken it off Richie while he was temporarily dead. In addition to the shirt, she wore black leggings and thin-soled shoes. Limping, she ran for the stairs, blood trailing down her left leg, as if she had caught something in her thigh. Her leggings were ripped on the left side, adding weight to her having injured herself.

Just before the staircase, Matthew caught her, but she wriggled free of his grip, losing the leather bracelet she wore in the process. Tucking it in his pocket, Matthew focused on his fleeing suspect. She slid down the stairs, tripping in her haste and banging her head, hard, against the wall of the stairs. Undeterred, she kept going.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” he warned her, following her as she tried shoving furniture in his way. He avoided them, but they did their job of slowing him down.

Unwilling to kill her and thus trigger her immortality, Matthew shot to wound rather than kill. His shot hit her shoulder just as she reached the kitchen. Momentum caused her to fall forward, slipping on the hardwood floor. She scrambled awkwardly to her feet, and Matthew saw she had a piece of metal from ductwork or part of an electrical junction box in her thigh. He stepped closer, intending to grab her again as she reached the back door. Matthew heard the distinctive click of something. Battle-honed instincts from centuries of near-death experiences made him step back automatically.

Desperation and pain made Jolene forget she had strung an even deadlier trap on the back door than the front. She pulled open the door and ran straight into the metal beading wire. The wire cut into her throat, and she instinctively tried to step back, slapping her left hand on the doorframe and entangling it in the wire. Her weight pulled the wire even tauter, slicing through her neck. The pressure-sensitive homemade IED attached to the wire finished the job of decapitating her, blowing out the back door and part of the kitchen wall in the process.

Matthew grabbed the kitchen table, flipping it down, and dived behind it to avoid being injured by the blast. Standing up and stepping back into the decimated kitchen, Matthew grimaced at the sight and the mess. Austin stepped into the room, surveyed the result, and noted dryly, “Well, the paperwork on this is going to suck. You okay?”

“Heard the ticking, managed to get clear,” Matthew lied. He could feel his immortal healing kick in as, contrary to what he had just said, he had not managed to get completely clear. “You?”

“Scared the crap out of me when I heard the explosion,” Austin remarked. “Took me a minute to realize you were chasing her downstairs. Other than that, I’m fine.” Austin looked at the mess. “Think she forgot she had that set to go off?”

“Likely. She was bleeding out from a wound in her thigh.”

“So if we’d gone to the back door, because we were scared off by the front, we would’ve gotten the bomb. Lovely,” Austin grumbled. “How come you didn’t suggest that?”

“Didn’t see the point if the front was clear.”

“Right. I’ll call this in, give you a moment.”

Matthew nodded his thanks.


	9. Chapter 9

That night, Richie met Matthew at the door of the house, looking worried. “You’re home late. You have that look, like someone died and you’re sorry it happened. I’ve seen that look in the mirror a few times. What happened? Is Jolene dead?”

“Yes. She had booby-trapped the back door of the house with wire and an IED. When we cornered her, she forgot and ran right into one. She won’t be getting up again.”

Richie stared at him as he tucked his hands into his armpits. “Ever?”

“Her head came off her neck. If she had been merely hanged, it would be a different story.”

Richie dropped his hands as he sagged in relief. “Good riddance. You’re okay? No Quickening-related problems?”

“No. She never was immortal, so there was no Quickening. I was near the explosion, but most of my injuries were minor enough that I was healed by the time Austin stepped in the room.”

“Your partner – he didn’t get hurt, did he?”

“No. Austin’s okay, but he and I will work overtime the next few weeks to close this case. I won’t be around much, unfortunately.” He studied the way Richie clutched his hands together, as if trying to reassure himself this was real. “I can show you the photos if you need confirmation of Jolene’s death.”

“What – no, I believe you,” Richie said hastily, shaking his head. “My imagination’s good enough without needing proof. Besides, I can’t see why you’d lie about that. I – don’t know. Today’s been a roller coaster.”

Matthew nodded. “I can imagine. How did your interviews go?”

Richie looked relieved at the change of subject. “Do you mind helping me out? I can’t figure out if what I heard this afternoon is just me hoping I misheard something.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind me showering and changing first. Did you make dinner?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure how late you’d be, so I made a big pot of mac and cheese. I saved you some, though, and if you want a salad, I can put one together.”

“I’d love both. I’ll be back in twenty, and while I eat, we can discuss how your interviews went. If you feel up to celebrating closure, open a bottle of red wine.”

Twenty minutes later, he had showered and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He also brought down the bracelet, now in a jeweler’s bag. Richie had heard the shower cease and had heated the mac and cheese for him, so it was sitting in a dish, waiting for him. A small green salad with sliced cherry tomatoes, dressed with seasoned oil and balsamic vinegar, and a slice of toasted French bread, sat alongside the entrée. Richie had poured them both glasses of red wine and plated bread for himself.

Matthew took a seat at the table, across from Richie. He said grace.

“To closing the case,” Richie said, raising his glass.

Matthew clinked his glass and smiled. He took a sip, then passed the bag holding the bracelet over to Richie. “We found Jolene wearing both your shirt and your bracelet. The t-shirt’s a loss, but I got this back. I also took it to a jeweler to get it cleaned. You must file paperwork to get your jacket and sword back, but since that’s all been photographed, it shouldn’t take long. I brought the form with me if you want to get that started, but you must appear in person to claim those items.”

Astonished, Richie immediately opened the bag and put the bracelet back on. “Thanks.”

“For the record – the white stones are lab-created diamonds. The blue stones are sapphire,” Matthew told him. “The jeweler suggested if you wore that a lot to replace the clasp with something more robust.”

“I will, and thanks,” Richie said. “This means a lot.” At Matthew’s inquiring look, he elaborated, “Amanda gave me it back in ’97, just before I left her company, to remind me that no matter where I went, I wasn’t alone. She said her teacher gave her part of a crystal for much the same reasons. I, uh, needed that reminder a lot then. I had it in my head that because I had spent so much of my time around a headhunter magnet, I couldn’t be around other people because it was too dangerous.”

Matthew nodded in understanding. “I can see where you’d think that way. It’s different for those of us who aren’t constantly under siege like that.”

“Has the Game ever been like that for you?” Richie wondered as he buttered his bread.

“A few times,” Matthew agreed. “Usually it’s been because of my age or because of who my students are or who they pissed off.”

“Cory must have gotten you into a hell of a lot of fights over the years.”

Matthew laughed. “Yes, and that says you know him well.” Matthew ate more of his dinner before changing the subject. “You said you wanted help with figuring out something that happened in one of your interviews?”

 “Yeah. If someone’s talking about starting me on Thursday without talking about training or what the expectations will be, should I run?”

“Depends. Is it typical for your line of work for that to happen?”

“No. I think they’re desperate for a bartender who knows what they’re doing. I went back and looked at the Yelp reviews and they’re mixed. I was asking about whether the bar had food runners and they said no, which means they’re expecting you to pick up the food orders too and manage making all of the drinks for the entire restaurant, not just the ones in the bar area.”

“Did you get a sense of whether they’re organized or just hiring anyone with a minimum set of qualifications?”

Richie grimaced. “Probably the latter. Okay, so that means the Nowhere Bar and Grill is out.”

“You said you had two interviews. How was the other one?”

“I really want that one,” Richie said, cautiously eager. “They have a good setup, and unlike the Nowhere Bar, they were interested in me demonstrating my skills. Nowhere was like, ‘Okay, do you know how to make a martini? Great. What about a Manhattan?’ No question about proportions or showing what I could do.”

“Is it common for a bartender to show their skills as part of the interview?”

Richie nodded. “Good bars will require it, and they’ll write off the liquor you use as part of the cost of doing business. The Empire and the Cross, which is where I interviewed this morning, had me make three cocktails: two common ones, and one I had never heard of before, just to judge how well I did all three and handled the situation.”

“And your interviewers taste the cocktail?”

“The professional ones will taste and spit it back out into a bucket they have for that purpose. They’re looking to see if you make it too strong and if you get distracted by their questions while you work.”

“Interesting,” Matthew remarked. “Never really thought about that side of the business.” He ate a bit of his dinner before asking, “Just how many cheeses did you put in this mac and cheese?”

Richie laughed. “Six, why?”

“Now I understand why you had me buy so much cheese,” Matthew marveled. “I thought you just liked it.”

“Well, yeah,” Richie said, shrugging and grinning. “Good thing we won’t die of heart disease or cholesterol, right?”

Matthew chuckled. “True. This is excellent, Richie. But please don’t make it too often – it’s very dense and rich.”

“Wanted comfort food. But I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He paused. “Guess with Jolene dead, no one will stand trial.”

Matthew nodded. “Sometimes closing a case like this is more work than when we arrest someone, because we have to make sure we document everything in case it becomes a problem.”

“That seems weird,” Richie said, surprised. He looked at Matthew. “You caught the person responsible, who committed suicide while trying to escape.”

“You and I know that, but to anyone else looking at it, she could have been someone innocent.”

Richie made a face at that. “Jolene Clark was no innocent. She liked killing people.”

“I remember when we took other people’s words for truth and never considered someone would lie to save themselves. A lot of innocent people got hurt when we did things that way. Hell, there have been a few cases I’ve looked back in hindsight and wondered if I did the wrong thing. The system we have now works, but it’s not without faults.”

“Yeah. I remember how overworked my juvie parole officer was; there was not enough of him to go around to help the kids who needed someone to help them turn their lives around, me included.” Richie grinned briefly. “Back then, I sneered at his help. I had my gang; didn’t think I needed anyone else.”

“Juvie, hmm? What was your specialty?”

Richie grinned. “Theft, mostly electronics and other small, easily fenced items. Why else would I get along with Cory and Amanda?”

“And you wonder why people assume you’re still a thief,” Matthew teased.

“Way better than to assume I’m the quickest way to get to Duncan or Connor,” Richie noted quietly. “I’m sick of that shit. Once was too damn often, and it’s happened so much that I’ve lost count. I quit mentioning they taught me for that alone. I’d rather charm you into believing that $12 cocktail is worth it.”

“Are they?”

Richie snorted. “Not if I used cheap well liquor to make it, no.”

Matthew laughed. “Are they ever worth it?”

Shrugging, Richie replied, “Depends on what you’re looking for. If you’re looking to get drunk, then it doesn’t matter what the drink is. If you care about the flavor, then yeah, look at what the drink is made of and see if they’re using, say, orange juice and vodka or orange-flavored vodka.”

“Orange-flavored vodka would be a shortcut for you as the bartender,” Matthew surmised.

Richie nodded. “But it doesn’t taste the same as if I’d used orange juice. It’s also cheaper for the bar – they don’t have to stock another ingredient that will go bad if not used within a specified period.”

“Given that, do you prefer to work in a place that cares about that stuff or somewhere that doesn’t?”

“Depends on where I’m at and what I need,” Richie said honestly. “If I need cash and where I’m at doesn’t have much choice, I’m less picky. I’ve worked dive bars where no one cared what the cocktails were as long as the beer was cold. Sanctuary, Amanda and Nick’s place, is one of the top clubs in Paris; the expectation is that you know how to craft a cocktail from fresh ingredients and can deliver that kind of drink within five minutes or less.” He shrugged. “That said, given a choice – I’d rather work somewhere that cares about what they’re asking their staff to do. If it means I’m serving you a cocktail I wouldn’t drink, I’m okay with that.”

Enjoying the conversation, Matthew asked, “How do you handle someone who asks you if you like a cocktail that’s on a bar’s menu?”

Richie grimaced. “I hate that question. Either I ask you more questions or I tell you to stick to what you like, and you’ll probably not order that cocktail anyway.” He sipped his wine.

“I’ve heard that you learn to figure out people,” Matthew offered.

“You do,” Richie agreed. “I usually find something to do to offset the burnout I get, dealing with rude and drunk people so much, but I love it otherwise.”

Matthew nodded. “I can see that. Do you have another interview somewhere else?”

“Yeah, I have one tomorrow, at a place near the waterfront. I’m not too sure about that one but we’ll see.”

“What about it bothers you?”

“Would you have much hope for a place that calls itself ‘The Shanty’?”

“No, I’d go expecting a dive bar.”

“My thoughts exactly. The ad didn’t list the name, so I’m guessing it probably knows if they did, they might not get as many applicants.”

Matthew lifted his glass. “Here’s to it being better than you expect.”

Richie grinned and toasted. “Hear, hear.”

* * *

_“In a press conference this morning, law enforcement officials announced they have caught the person responsible for killing 20 people and storing their remains in a refrigerated warehouse in downtown Baltimore,” the seasoned news anchor read. “Police arrested Jolene Clark, a former dental assistant and Baltimore native, last night at her home in the north Baltimore. Clark was also accused of trying to murder one other person, who police say escaped and notified the FBI. During her arrest, she tried to escape and was killed by one of her own boobytraps, which exploded the rear of the house. Police say the explosive was a homemade IED based on an M80 firecracker. No one else was hurt in the explosion. Police have identified all the victims and are working on notifying the next of kin, but say most of the victims were from Maryland, Virginia, and the District of Columbia.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, more story is forthcoming. Want to speculate what happens next? Let me know!


	10. Chapter 10

When Matthew headed downstairs the next morning, he found Richie asleep on the couch, the TV remote on the floor by his hand. At his approach, Richie shot up like a rocket, his rapier, which had been hidden by the bottom of the couch, springing to hand. Recognizing Matthew, he sat back and ran a sheepish hand through his hair. Like the previous time he had fallen asleep on the couch, he made no apology for his preparedness. Matthew knew from that previous time that Richie would not accept a compliment for being that paranoid.

“Morning,” Matthew greeted. “Nightmares again?”

“Nah,” Richie said, yawning as he stood up. “Just one of those nights where I couldn’t convince my brain to shut off. Kept thinking about what I would’ve done if Jolene was still alive, especially if I’d done some of the shit I did when I was eighteen.”

“Which was?”

“Oh, figuring I knew better than the cops, chasing vengeance like it was an open wound I needed to keep bleeding so I could keep living in the pain.” Richie smiled ruefully, his face reflecting hard-won knowledge. “Figured if I watched TV until I fell asleep, I might actually get some rest. Did you want breakfast?”

“I need to do some work at the office today, so I was going to grab it on the way.” He paused, realizing Richie needed to know his schedule. “In case I didn’t mention it last night, closing this case means I’ll be working a lot of hours over the next three weeks, more than usual. I know we agreed on two shared meals a week, but don’t feel you need to wait for me. I’m likely going to be getting home at nine o’clock.”

Richie nodded his understanding. “When I get hired, I probably won’t be home at any regular time. Since the bars don’t close until 2 AM, it’s conceivable I’ll be out until three AM, finishing cleanup and restocking the bar for the opening shift. New hires usually get stuck with the crappy shifts, the ones no one else wants to work. That could mean day shifts or the earlier-in-the-week nights, when business is slower.” He paused, considered. “Even so, I usually get a couple hundred bucks on a good shift and can pay you rent. Would you accept a compromise until I get hired?”

“What are you thinking?”

“I make stuff you can heat up easily if you’re still hungry, and if I’m home, we still can chat while you eat. Or you can take the leftovers to work for lunch. I know it’s not the same, but I’d feel weird if I kept cooking for myself and didn’t share what I made with you while I lived here and ate your groceries.”

Not seeing a downside, Matthew accepted. “Let me know if you think it’s too much. You’re a good cook, but I’m not letting you stay here because I need a private chef.”

Richie chuckled. “Good, because if you wanted one, you’ll find I suck at taking requests for specific meals.” He paused. “Since Jolene’s not a threat anymore, why _are_ you letting me stay here?”

“I like your company,” Matthew said easily. “If you’d rather leave –”

“No,” Richie said hastily. “It just occurred to me while I was lying awake that you didn’t need me around for much.”

Matthew studied him. “Maybe not,” he agreed gently, “but the work that I do tends to leave little room for friendships. Having you here forces me to remember that I need that balance in my life. Do you need more to feel you have a purpose?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds pretty stupid,” Richie noted. He offered Matthew a rueful smile. “Sorry. You know how stuff goes through your brain at 2 AM sounds logical then.”

“Indeed. Do you need me to be with you today? I can do some of the work from here.”

Richie took a deep breath. “No. If you’re like most people I’ve known who work remotely, there’s always something that’s easier to do if you’re physically in the office. I should get out and do something, see if I can drop in on a tai chi class or boxing somewhere. Usually works.”

Matthew pulled out his wallet and handed Richie two twenties. “In case you need to pay for the class. Let me know if you need more.”

“Oh, man, Matthew, you don’t –”

“I do. And call your friends, let them know what happened to you if you haven’t told them already. I’m actually surprised Cory hasn’t made his way here already, since he knows you’re here.”

Richie smiled at that. “He said he was focusing on production and marketing and probably wouldn’t be free for a while yet. Do you think you’ll be back by six-thirty?”

“Thinking about dinner?”

“Least I can do for what you’ve done for me,” Richie said, his smile widening. He stood, taking his rapier with him, and headed upstairs, saying, “Text me if you’re going to be later.”

“Will do.”

* * *

Matthew drove to work, his mind on the case before the memory of Richie on the couch prompted him to make a call as soon as he reached the garage where he parked his car. The call connected on the third ring.

“Hello, Matthew. What can I do for you?”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Depends on the favor,” Cory hedged.

“In case Richie hasn’t told you yet, the serial killer who kidnapped Richie is dead. She blew herself up. Since I doubt Richie’s done more than call one or two names on the list of mental health professionals and found out how much they charge, would you mind coming to check in on him? I’m going to be working a ton of hours in the next three weeks and I don’t want him to feel abandoned.”

“Sorry, Matthew, can’t do, much as I want to. We’re getting ready to ship our first batch of flavored moonshine. Ceirdwyn can handle the plant but the final marketing push is on me, and I have to be here.” Cory took a breath. “I’ll call him, let him know you told me, but that’s the best I can do.”

Matthew grimaced. When Cory committed to something, he went all out, which is part of why he had been a successful criminal for centuries. “What should I be on the lookout for, then?”

“Does he have a motorcycle?”

“Not yet.”

“Then if he stops making you food, tells you he’s not hungry but wants you to eat, or starts acting like he’s encroaching on your space somehow, he’s in trouble. He reverts to the kid who learned not to be a bother to anyone because there wasn’t enough to go around. Richie will insist he’s fine. Once he gets a motorcycle, he’ll go for a long ride and usually work out whatever’s in his head that way. He’s been through therapy; he knows what he needs to do.”

“Do I need to worry about him drinking to excess?”

“No,” Cory said emphatically. “He told me he serves enough alcoholics, he has no desire to become one. Plus, he said he didn’t want to become someone a friend had to put down like a rabid dog. When I asked him who he meant, he said Mac did it to Brian Cullen.”

Matthew’s mouth tightened at the mention of the once-famous swordsman. For multiple centuries, Brian had been a contender in the Game. It had gotten him students, lovers, and hunters. He’d killed until he was out of his mind, escaping into drugs and alcohol to avoid it all, and still the hunters had come. Matthew had heard Mac had staged an intervention years ago, gotten Brian sober and onto holy ground, but rumor held it hadn’t lasted. “That confirms the rumors I’d heard. Anything else I should know about Richie?”

“Just make sure he knows you care. He assumes the worst if no one says anything.”

“Got it. Thanks, Cory.”

“Anytime, Matthew.”

Matthew disconnected the call and sighed as he moved to exit his car. He hoped, for Richie’s sake, that the resilience that had gotten him through everything thus far would continue.

* * *

A little Googling produced the result that there was a high-rated boxing gym with open gym hours a short bus ride from Matthew’s house. When he boxed, Richie often thought of Charlie DeSalvo, who had owned the gym Mac had bought after Tessa’s death and Richie’s initiation into immortality. Charlie had tried to infuse Richie with a love of the sport when Richie had been struggling with grief and frustration that he wasn’t getting the kind of training he had thought he had needed to be a player in the Game. Now, Richie loved that knowing how to box had helped him teach Nick how to wield a sword properly. Boxing also usually got him out of his head enough that he could pretend, for an hour, that he was not immortal.

“Hi,” Richie greeted the man who stood watching a pair of people box. He was built like a heavyweight boxer, with a military-style haircut, a US Marines tattoo peeking out from under the left sleeve of his t-shirt, and the back of his black t-shirt read “Staff”. “I didn’t see anyone at the desk up front, and was wondering if I needed to pay anyone to box here today?”

The man held up a hand and gestured to someone on the other side of the ring. “Waylon, help them out, please? I’ll be back in a minute.” Assured that Waylon would help the two fighters, he then turned to Richie. “Come this way,” he said, gesturing to the front of the gym. I’m David Eagan; I own this place. You are?”

“Richie Ryan,” Richie said, shaking the other man’s hand. “I know how to box; I just need some place with a proper bag and equipment.”

“You don’t have your own?”

Richie shook his head. “Most of my stuff’s still in boxes,” he lied easily. “I just moved here a few weeks ago. Still unpacking. You know how that goes.”

David barked a laugh as they reached the check-in desk. “Yeah, I do. Normally, our fees are $60 for an hour, and we ask that you take an introductory class so we can see what your skill level is before we put in the ring with someone else. What are you looking to do?”

“Just vent some frustration. I put a huge deposit down on an apartment and then the manager decided my credit wasn’t good enough, so now I have to wait another two months to get a refund. In the meantime, I’m out two grand.”

David smiled sympathetically. “That sucks. Let’s get going so you can punch a bag for half an hour. That work for you?”

“Yes, thanks.”

The gym was not fancy, but it was clean and well-maintained, and had locker rooms for men and women. The well-used gloves Richie borrowed smelled faintly of sanitizer and conditioner. The bag he hit swung easily and was solid but not overfilled. Richie lost himself in the rhythm of punching the bag, letting out the tension he felt. He was glad that Jolene was no longer a problem, no longer someone he had to add to the long list of people he would have to be aware of in the future. He grieved for the time she had taken from him, for the loss of life she had caused, but not for the loss of her life. She had earned that lack of regret by her actions.

Long habit kept him aware of the time passing, and he reluctantly ceased his workout a few minutes short of his allotted time, so he could return the gloves. Feeling as though he had worked through the emotions swirling through him, Richie started to walk out of the gym, only to be stopped by David.

“I was watching you; you have a good form. I’d love to see you come back. If you give me your email, I can set you up with a discount for your first month’s training.”

“Let me think about it,” Richie countered. “I’m still looking for a job and I don’t know how long my friend will let me crash on his couch. But thanks for the tour and the time with the punching bag. I needed it.”

Disappointment crossed David’s face, and he tried to press, but Richie shook his head and walked out the door of the gym. He liked the place well enough, but it was not the kind of training he needed most to survive as a player in the Game. Richie held no illusions about his status in the Game. He was a student of both Highlanders, which made him a target twice over; he was friend to a dozen immortals, which made him leverage; and he had spent a year making a name for himself as a headhunter, which still caused repercussions even after more than two decades. In Richie’s mind, that meant he needed to keep his sword sharp and his body and mind honed. Fighting against Matthew had only reinforced that sense of needing to be in shape. 

As he waited for the bus, he saw he had a text from Cory. _Hey, Matthew told me about your kidnapper’s demise. If you need to talk, call me after two pm._

Glancing the time on his phone, Richie considered the offer. He wasn’t sure what to say. Having to talk to Matthew and Austin about what happened had helped. After his workout, he didn’t feel the need to rehash it. He waited until he boarded the bus to text his reply.

_Thanks, but while I’m not sorry that bitch is dead, I don’t feel the need to talk about it anymore. At least this time around, she wasn’t hunting my head to get to someone else._

He was almost at Matthew’s house before Cory texted back, _Offer’s open anytime, Richie. If you don’t want to talk to me, find a professional. Ask for help. Don’t let it get so bad it takes two of us to make sure you know which end is up._

Richie let out a breath, remembering how, four years earlier, the weight of so many kidnappings, so many close brushes with death, and so much unexpected crises in his life had taken its toll on him. He had a meltdown, triggered by a woman who turned out to be a cousin of Tessa’s, and it had taken months of therapy to put his ghosts to rest.

 _I will,_ he texted Cory now, fully intending to keep that promise. _Quit being a worrywart; it doesn’t suit your image of not giving a damn._

He got an emoji of a single finger salute followed by, _See if I give you anything for Christmas._

Richie laughed and wrote, _As if I was expecting anything that wasn’t stolen, previously gifted, or completely ridiculous_.

He got no reply, but he could picture Cory’s indignation at the implication he had to buy something instead of resorting to his usual tactics. Thinking of Cory, who was rarely without a motorcycle, made him decide to check out a motorcycle dealership instead of heading straight home, so he looked up where one was, figured out how to get there, and changed bus routes.

The dealership was like a hundred other large multi-brand motorcycle dealerships Richie had visited in the US over the years – lots of motorcycles on display, grouped by engine size, with classic rock music playing on the overhead speakers. Wall banners indicated the dealership had won multiple customer service awards, honored veterans, and was active in local charities that supported at-risk youth, the homeless, and the city food bank. It didn’t take long before Richie’s perusal of a new Yamaha sport touring motorcycle brought a salesperson to him.

“Hi, welcome to Baltimore Cycle Barn,” the woman greeted. “That’s the FJR model. I’m Bessie, you are?”

Richie turned and found a woman of his height standing on his right. She had a pear-shaped body, brunette hair, and a warm smile. Richie shook hands with her, saying, “Richie, and I’m basically drooling over what I can’t afford. Do you have any used bikes?”

Bessie chuckled. “Right through the doorway on the left is our used section; Alan should be floating around there if you have any questions. We are running an end-of-season sale on everything, so there are some really good deals if you’re looking to buy.”

“Thanks.” He headed over to the room indicated and found a sizeable inventory of used bikes. Long experience had him looking at each one for indications the bike had been in an accident, been driven extensively or carelessly, and how much overall wear and tear the bike had undergone to date. He tended to keep a bike several years, driving them through conditions most motorcyclists wouldn’t, and so needed a bike with enough power and capability to handle such extreme riding. The number of bikes available meant several tempted Richie, but he resisted the impulse to buy now.

He was sitting on a late-model BMW 1200 RT when the sound of footsteps alerted him to someone approaching. He looked up from his assessment of how the bike felt to see a tall man with an oval-shaped face, a wide nose, and toffee-brown skin approach. Appreciation for a fine specimen of the male form surged through Richie; he liked his men to be solidly built. The three-quarter sleeve dress shirt the other man wore strained against defined muscles, and the dark jeans he wore clung to his hips and legs. Most of his height appeared to be his torso.

“Hi, I’m Alan,” the salesman introduced himself. “Bessie said your name is Richie, did I hear that correctly?”

“Yes,” Richie said. He kept his hands on the bike, testing the brakes. “What year is this?”

“It’s a 2011,” Alan replied. “Sold and serviced here, so we have all the maintenance records. It was loaded up with all the bells and whistles when it was new, so it has a Bluetooth interface, the side and rear cases you see, ABS, electronically adjustable windscreen, heated grips, onboard computer, audio system with radio, low suspension, low seat, Wunderlich bar risers, cruise control, P3 programmable auxiliary brake lights, BMW valve cover guards, and rear saddle bag guards. Well maintained bike, low miles for its age, owner just couldn’t convince his wife to ride anymore.”

Richie grimaced. “Was wondering why it felt lower than my old bike.” He reluctantly dismounted. “I’m used to sitting up high. I usually ride long distances.”

“You ever do the Iron Butt challenge?” Alan asked.

Richie laughed. “No, but I’ve ridden from Washington State down to Mexico, and from Lisbon, Spain, to Paris, France, and across part of Morocco.”

Alan’s eyes widened. “Isn’t there an ocean or a sea in the way?”

“You can take a car ferry from Spain to Morocco,” Richie assured him. “Or hop on a cargo freighter if you know who to talk to for passage. Knowing French helped immensely.”

“I’d be terrified; I don’t know French and I wouldn’t know who to talk to,” Alan said promptly. “You looking to buy before winter hits?”

Richie shrugged. “Probably not, given my lack of funds at the moment. But I wanted to see what was here.”

“We usually have a good selection of used bikes,” Alan assured him. “If you’re looking for another 1200 RT, I can keep my eye out for you and let you know when we get one in.” He took a business card out of his shirt pocket. “Or you can email me and let me know what you’re looking for in a motorcycle, and I can search for you when you’re ready. I don’t work on commission, so there’s no pressure.”

“No commission?” Richie looked at him, startled. “Been a while since I’ve been in a motorcycle dealership. That a new thing?”

Alan smiled. “Baltimore Cycle Barn was the first in the area to switch over to non-commissioned sales staff. We’ve found it works better for everyone – you get to know us if you come in here a lot, we get to know you, you’re less likely to feel guilty about buying, etc.”

Richie whistled softly, remembering how rough it had been to be a commissioned salesperson. “Nice. I’ve worked on commission; it’s rough. It’ll probably be spring before I’m ready to buy, but I’ll be back in.” Privately, he thought, _if only to admire the pretty man you are_.

Alan smiled. “No problem. Come back anytime.” He offered his hand to shake, and in doing so, Richie caught sight of the distinctive trefoil tattoo on his wrist. Richie’s heart sank; he knew exactly what that tattoo signified, knew he had lied about not knowing French, since all Watchers were required to learn it as part of their training. Still, he shook the man’s hand.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Richie said aloud. “Thanks for the info, Alan. Nice wrist tattoo, by the way. You still with the organization?”

Alan met his gaze. “Yes.”

Richie nodded. “How long before I start seeing you all the time?”

“I’m not the person assigned to you,” Alan said carefully, “so you won’t. I can’t say anything more than that.”

Grimacing, Richie shook his head. “Tell whoever it is not to bother me when I start working. I hate that shit.”

“I’ll pass on the message,” Alan said. “I heard Terry was like an overeager puppy.”

“Worse,” Richie replied. “He was a stalker, and I had to file charges. You know that shit’s illegal in Washington State.”

“In that case, I’ll definitely make sure Headquarters knows,” Alan hastened to assure him. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Me too,” Richie replied. He owed his life to Joe Dawson, who broke his Watcher oath, and his knowledge of bartending to Mike, who’d been willing to teach an overeager kid the ropes while asking Richie for the information he needed to flesh out Richie’s Chronicle. Richie understood the Watchers; he’d been fortunate to call two of them his friends, but in the years since, he had experienced the gamut. “I prefer it when I don’t know you exist.”

“Would it be too much if I helped you in choosing your next motorcycle?” Alan asked anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Richie said honestly. “Let me think on that and get back to you.”

“That’s a yes, then. If you choose not to come back to this dealership, I understand, but if you do, ask for Bessie.”

“I’ll remember that.” Richie walked out of the dealership, hating that he had to choose sides, but he couldn’t take the chance on starting another war between immortals and Watchers. He suspected the only Watcher alive who could get away with being friends with immortals was Joe Dawson – but Joe was now semi-retired, and from the hints Joe had dropped, increasingly left out of Watcher business, as if the Watchers had decided he had chosen the side of immortals. The whole situation made Richie feel like a reluctant celebrity. Still, he held out hope that whoever was assigned to him was someone honorable and decent, unlike his last one.

* * *

By Thursday of the following week, Richie was hired to be a bartender at The Empire and the Cross. He had given the other two bars fair consideration, and even had offers from both, but he liked the Empire and the Cross’s location, since it meant he could either take a bus or walk the two-mile distance. He also appreciated that at the Empire and the Cross, the music volume wasn’t set to drown out any chance of actual conversation, which he had learned to hate, since it meant he spent more time lip-reading than he wanted to as part of his work.

Richie was not surprised to see that his first two weeks of work were for the lunch and happy hour. He’d gotten spoiled by working at Sanctuary and at Joe’s for people who knew his abilities and therefore, trusted him to handle higher-volume shifts. At the Empire and the Cross, Richie focused on proving himself so that when someone needed coverage, the managers would pick him. Daytime shifts at the pub meant he was at work by 8:30 AM and clocking out at 5 pm, sometimes 6, even though the pub did not open until 11 AM. On top of serving customers, Richie’s responsibilities including making the cocktail syrups and mixers the pub used, cutting garnishes, restocking both the liquor and the ice bins, and checking inventory. The pub used a state-of-the-art real-time inventory system, including high-quality measured pourers, to help cut down on waste, but it still meant some human intervention was required to verify what the system thought it had.

Still, Richie was pleased with his tips, and by the end of his first two weeks, was able to give Matthew a hundred dollars towards rent. It was a Thursday night and Richie had covered the happy hour crush. He fully expected Matthew to be working late, given his recent schedule and the warning he’d given, but Matthew was home by the time Richie arrived at eight pm.

“You sure you can afford this?” Matthew asked when Richie handed him the cash.

“Way my schedule looks, and the hours you tend to keep, I probably won’t be eating dinner with you unless you want to eat late,” Richie told him. “Least I can do is give you something. I know we didn’t talk about how much you’d want, but I’m going to be working the shifts when people tend to tip less.”

“Do you think you’ll have a regular schedule going forward?”

“Likely,” Richie said. “My boss said she needed someone to cover days. I don’t mind; it means I’m not going to be standing on a street corner at 3 or 4 AM waiting to take a bus with a pocket full of cash. We had a bartender quit, so I’ll probably wind up covering the happy hour too like I did today, which means I’ll be home around eight, eight-thirty.”

“In that case, let’s make it $50 a week, with the week being defined as Sunday to Saturday. You have until the following Monday to pay me. If you can’t find me for whatever reason, leave the cash on my desk in my office upstairs. If you can’t make it for whatever reason, let me know.”

“Appreciate it, Matthew,” Richie said as they shook hands on the deal.

Feeling like he had accomplished something, Richie headed up to his room to shower and change, having come directly from his shift home. He was sweaty and tired; he had managed to grab his lunch break late, and his stomach was grumbling. He needed to eat, but he also needed to cook it first.

When he returned downstairs, he found Matthew in the kitchen, making dinner. At his look of surprise, Matthew said, “Sit down, take a load off. You’ve been serving people all day.”

“Thanks,” Richie said gratefully as he grabbed a can of ginger soda and took a seat at the table. “What are you making?”

“Chicken stir-fry with noodles. Do they feed you at your work?”

“Staff meal is before we open, usually the special of the day so we know what we’re talking about, and something else the executive chef put together, so we actually eat, in case the special is not to someone’s liking. I’m supposed to eat a lunch, but I only managed to get a snack.”

“Do you have to pay for your meals?”

“Anything other than staff meal is at a discount to prevent people from taking advantage.”

“Reasonable. You like the people you’re working with?”

“Yeah, I haven’t met everyone yet but the people I’ve met have been cool. I’m replacing a guy who thought he was better than everyone else because he used to work at a restaurant run by one of the big-name celebrity chefs. The head bartender, Wendy Choi, was less than impressed, especially since he also was racist and would actively refuse to serve people.”

“Sounds like a winner.” Matthew finished cooking and plated the entrée. “Chopsticks or fork?”

“Fork, please. As tired as I am, I’d rather not see how good I am at chopsticks.”

Matthew chuckled and joined him at the table with a glass of red wine. “Do you like your work so far?”

Richie nodded and took a bite of the dish. Like what Matthew had cooked for him previously, it was a simple, decently executed dish, nothing memorable but not bad either. Richie suspected the other man had amassed a repertoire of easy-to-prepare, nutritious, and filling dishes, things that could be scaled easily to accommodate a crowd or feed one person. Having learned that Amanda couldn’t cook, despite repeated efforts to teach her otherwise, Richie appreciated that what Matthew made was edible and delicious. “This is good. Are you eating?”

Matthew shook his head. “Ate earlier. Stir-fry is better when it’s fresh.”

“Yeah. You, uh, wrapped up whatever you needed for the kidnapping case I was a part of?”

Matthew nodded. “You get your jacket and short sword back?”

“Did that two days ago – figured I’d better do it before I forgot and scheduled myself into working the next month without a break.”

“Do you get any holidays off?”

“Thanksgiving and New Year’s we don’t open until 6 pm, but we’re closed Christmas. I usually don’t celebrate any of them, so I tend to volunteer to work.”

“I often have taken the holiday shifts so those people with families can be off call for those days,” Matthew said, and sipped his wine. “Did you have any family traditions growing up?”

Richie’s face shuttered. “No. I was a foster kid. First real Christmas I ever celebrated was when I was eighteen and Mac and Tessa became my legal guardians in exchange for dropping the charges against me.”

“What did you do?” Surprised, Matthew looked at him.

“Tried to steal a sword from Mac’s antique store.”

Matthew’s gaze sharpened. “Really.”

“Yeah, not smart.” Richie shook his head. “Two seconds later, I’m in the middle of the weirdest scene in my life, because some dude hunting Mac crashes into the store, looking for him, and then Connor shows up because he’s hunting said dude.” He grinned at the memory. “Meanwhile, I’m holding a sword, and everyone in the room is trying to figure out if I’m a threat.”

“Because you were triggering everyone’s radar,” Matthew surmised.

“At the time, I was just like, ‘okay, everyone chill out, I’ll leave the sword, you can leave me out of whatever this weirdness is, I won’t say a thing.’” Richie shrugged. “In hindsight, I’m lucky that Mac didn’t shoot me or assume I was an advance scout for the immortal who’d come to the store hunting him.”

“I can’t see him doing that, even if it was true,” Matthew mused.

“Maybe not, but I’ve learned since then there are plenty of others who would.”

“Unfortunately,” Matthew agreed. “But getting back to Christmas – did you want to do anything for that? Or for that matter, Halloween?”

“If you’re into exchanging Christmas gifts, sure, but I do enough decorating at work that I’m usually over it by the time Christmas arrives. As for Halloween - if I’m here and not working, would you have a problem with me passing out candy?”

Matthew smiled. “I usually have a basket I set out on the front steps for that occasion if I end up working, but I do enjoy seeing the costumes when I’m not.”

“I passed out candy at a friend’s house last year in Seacouver, since I was only working in Joe’s part-time, and working in a motorcycle repair shop for my full-time job. I had a lot of fun – a lot more than I thought I would. I was actually bummed I ran out of candy.”

Chuckling, Matthew said, “I’ll be sure to pick some up, then, when I go grocery shopping this weekend. That way, we’ll be ready either way.” He studied Richie a moment, seeing his exhaustion and his determination to eat everything on his plate. “If you’re still hungry, there’s more in the pan.”

Richie looked at what was left on his plate and shook his head. “I’ll eat it for breakfast. I’m starting to crash, so I’m just going to focus on eating what I have here and get myself upstairs so I can sleep.”

“In that case, don’t worry about the dishes. Getting back to work after a period of rest can take a lot of you.” Matthew rose. “I’ll put the rest in a container. Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I need to be at work by 8 so I can make all the mixes we’ll need for the weekend crush. I’ll be up sooner than that – need to get a workout in or else I’ll regret it later.”

“Let me know if you want to practice sword fighting,” Matthew offered.

“Not tomorrow, but, I’d like to do that again with you. How about Sunday morning, before you go to church?” Richie flashed him a brief smile. “You tend to test your opponent’s stamina and use your sword like it’s a battering ram. I haven’t had anyone hit that hard in a while.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve fought someone, so I probably should adjust that, even if it works.”

Richie chuckled. “You don’t get challenged often?”

Matthew shook his head. “The headhunters who seek me out usually know to look for me because they’ve killed someone who knew how old I am. The others – the ones looking for instant glory – tend to go for the Highlanders or they take a ‘kill anyone I find’ approach.”

“Yeah, I don’t recommend that as a strategy,” Richie noted. “You might wind up killing someone with a very long lifeline and a shitload of friends willing to extract revenge.”

Matthew eyed Richie warily. “Something tells me you know that from experience.”

Richie took a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s been over twenty years, but I still have a few people who want my head for killing Carter Wellan.”

Blinking at that, Matthew looked at Richie. “You took Carter’s head? And Haresh didn’t take yours?”

“He came close. If Mac hadn’t claimed he had a previous grudge against Haresh, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be here.”

“How did you win against Carter?”

“He wasn’t as good as me that day,” Richie said simply. “Plus, he relied on Haresh taking most of the challenges they faced.”

“That makes sense. Yes, we can do Sunday morning,” Matthew agreed as he scooped the remainder of what he had made into a plastic container and put it into the fridge. “How do you handle someone challenging you when you’re working?”

“Laugh it off, usually, or tell them that if they want to keep drinking in this bar, they can take their challenge elsewhere to someone else. I’ve also pretended that the immortal they’re sensing is not me or that I have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“Nice. And you look young enough that a headhunter can’t be sure if you’re just young-looking or a new player in the Game.”

“Have to admit, I got spoiled working at Sanctuary. There, I could also say, ‘this bar’s on holy ground, are you an idiot to want to blow up half of Paris with a challenge here, now?’”

“But you haven’t had too many problems elsewhere?”

“One guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. It’s why I had to leave Mexico – he killed me in the bar, just so he could challenge me later. Idiot.” Richie shook his head. “It’s one of the reasons I stick to working at more popular bars. People are less likely to be openly hostile in a crowded space unless they’re just jerks anyway.”

“It means they wait until you step out of the bar and challenge you then,” Matthew noted.

Richie shrugged. “Better that than while I’m trying to remember who ordered what and who hasn’t paid yet and what other orders I’m forgetting to do. Are you working on other cases now?”

“Missing persons case, could be serial killer related, plus a few other murder cases. Most of my cases involve a lot of dead bodies, which is partly why I don’t talk about them. The other reason is I’m not allowed to discuss details.”

“How do you cope with knowing all that and not being able to talk about it to your friends?”

“I’ve learned how to talk about it without being specific, when to talk to a professional, and I take time off and do other things that make me remember why I do what I do so I don’t get burned out.”

Richie considered that while he finished eating. “I can see that. Most of the people I’ve stayed with have do work they could talk about, or we were doing it together so talking about it was either venting or trying to get stuff done.”

Matthew nodded. “Do you have any regular days off?”

Richie shook his head. “No clue how it’ll shake it out. I usually prefer to take mid-week off if I have a choice.” He yawned. “And I’d love to continue this conversation tomorrow. Are you working late?”

“I might be. Did you want to do something since it’ll be Friday night?”

“Thought if you were going to be home around the same time I am, which should be around seven, we could celebrate my getting employed.”

Smiling, Matthew took the plate Richie passed him. “I’ll text you if I’m later than that. Sleep well.” Assured that Richie was settling comfortably into his new job, Matthew went to take care of the dishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trouble's coming...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rhi for breaking my block on this, and for helping me toss a figurative coin.

_Two weeks later – October 23_

The alarm clock he had set buzzed in his ear and he reached for his phone to silence it. Stretching, sitting up in his bed, Richie grimaced as he realized the date. As had become his habit, he sighed heavily as he thought of the woman who had, in just over a year, become such an influence on his life. Tessa had taught him French, welding, art appreciation, and basic cooking skills. Now, as he always had, he wondered what she would have thought about how he had grown. Absently, he pressed a hand over his heart as he remembered how it had felt to die from a gunshot wound. Unwilling to linger over the memory, as that way lay spirals of too many depressive thoughts, Richie got out of bed. He had the day off, and he wanted to do laundry, cook a few meals for later reheating, do some cleaning, and check out a judo studio while Matthew was at work.

Richie stepped into the shower, loving the fact that he had a private ensuite, and that Matthew had a water tank that was sized for a house full of people. He could still sense Matthew in the house but expected the other immortal would be leaving for work soon. After two months of living the same house, Richie knew that Matthew was usually up by 6 AM, even on weekends, and tended to work anywhere between 50 to 60 hours a week. It didn’t leave them with a whole lot of time to socialize. Richie appreciated that Matthew tried to bridge that gap, sharing a meal with him, practicing sword skills, or simply texting him to ask when he expected to be home from work. Already, Richie could see where the sword practice was paying off – he had forgotten what it was like to practice against someone who could wield a broadsword for hours, who was ruthless in poking holes in his defenses, and who was faster than his height and build would lead one to believe. For his part, Richie felt as though he was holding his own; Matthew had initially underestimated his skill and experience. A part of him wanted to see how Matthew would do in a real fight; from fighting against him, Richie knew he would be hard-pressed to win, especially now that they both understood what their skill levels were. Richie also appreciated that, unlike Mac and Amanda, Matthew didn’t have a parade of other immortals wanting his head or his time every week.

After Richie finished his shower, he dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. A check of the weather forecast on his phone told him Baltimore was still in the low 60’s, with some rain in the forecast; to a Pacific Northwest native like Richie, the current weather felt like home. He grabbed his laundry basket and headed downstairs, wanting to start a load before eating breakfast. The washer and dryer were located on the far end of the first floor, in the combination mudroom, pantry, and laundry room that connected the rest of the house with the garage.

Having started a load, he grabbed a box of breakfast cereal from the pantry and stepped into the great room to find Matthew making coffee.

“Morning,” Matthew greeted.

“Hey, Matthew,” Richie replied as he grabbed a mug and a bowl for the cereal he intended to eat. Setting both items down on the table, he then poured the cereal into the bowl and went back for coffee and milk. “You got in late last night. Another difficult case?”

Matthew shook his head. “Cory texted me a few days ago, said you might want company today, so I worked late.”

“Appreciate it,” Richie said gratefully. “I usually go to an art museum to honor Tessa, and the Baltimore Art Museum has one of her works, although it’s not one of my favorites. Figured I’d go do that after I finished laundry. I’m down to my last clean work shirt.”

“I haven’t been to that museum in a while, but we can definitely go there,” Matthew agreed readily. “Anything else you want to do?”

“Not be alone,” Richie requested. “Some years I don’t even think about today but getting kidnapped a few weeks back is making me remember how Tessa and I got shot. She’d been kidnapped, and I was supposed to keep her safe while Mac checked out something in the house where she’d been held, and –” He exhaled heavily. “Some punk kid, high and desperate, mugged us, and when Tessa was slow to pull out her wallet, he shot her, then he shot me.”

“I’m sorry. Why don’t we finish your laundry later, when we get back? Let’s get out of here, get breakfast at a diner, then head to the museum?”

Richie considered the invitation before finishing his coffee. “Yeah, let’s do that. Or hell, go somewhere else entirely – your choice. If I see that giant earthworm sculpture again, I might feel compelled to destroy it, just because it’s so not the quality she could produce. It was a commission for someone.”

Matthew smiled briefly. “How about the National Aquarium instead?”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll be cool. I heard someone talking about the shark exhibit – I love seeing those. And there’s an Australian exhibit too. Have you been to Australia?”

“No, though I do have a student who moved there about a decade ago and has been after me to go visit. Have you been?”

“Yeah. I worked six months on a cruise ship that went from LA to Sydney. Gorgeous place, friendly people, way too much to see in one trip, kinda like trying to see the US.”

Matthew chuckled. “I can imagine. Your passport sounds like it’s been well-stamped.”

“One of the harder things for me has been the fact that I look young,” Richie admitted. “So I either have to keep moving or deal with people asking me how old I really am. Plus, I figured since I’m not with anyone, don’t have to worry about paying for a house, and can pick up work pretty much anywhere, why not travel?”

“When Ceirdwyn, my teacher, showed me how much bigger the world was, it lit a fire in me to want to know more,” Matthew noted. “But I’ve not done as much traveling as I probably should. In a lot of ways, I left England to come to America and then stopped wanting to go out of the country.” He shook his head ruefully. “Ceirdwyn or Cory usually remind me I haven’t been somewhere and need to go. They’re both better wanderers than me. I tend to stick in the same region and stay there.”

“As a knight, would you have had claim to any royal titles?” Richie wondered.

“Actually, I do,” Matthew told him. “But I’d have to go through some hoops if I wanted to prove and claim it now, and it has no value to me.”

“Some people would want that piece of paper.”

Shaking his head, Matthew said, “Usually those are people who have romanticized ideas of history.”

Richie laughed. “Yeah, I sometimes wonder what will get looked on lovingly about this century. I almost can’t remember what it was like without being able to look up something on the Internet and have the answer in thirty seconds or less.”

Matthew chuckled. “At least you remember when the Internet didn’t exist.”

As he parked the car, the sense of another immortal rolled through him. He glanced at Richie, who nodded.

“Shall we hope they’re just here to see the aquarium or go to one of the nearby restaurants?” Matthew asked.

“Sure,” Richie said readily. “If they’re not going to introduce themselves, it’s the only good assumption.”

Matthew took a moment to make sure he was armed with both his sword and his gun. He saw Richie unzip his leather jacket, touching the left shoulder as if to assure himself his rapier was there. When no immortal made themselves known, Matthew nodded to Richie. “Let’s go. If they’re on a hunt, they’ll find us again.”

Richie’s smile tightened for a moment, but all he said was, “Lead the way.”

Matthew found zoos and aquariums fascinating; seeing this one through Richie’s eyes only added to his enjoyment.

“Oh, man,” Richie exclaimed as they stood in the shark exhibit, “Tessa hated these things. She would get so freaked out, she’d revert to French.” He pointed to the sawtooth shark. “She’d ask ‘why’ and I would never have an answer for her, and Mac didn’t either.”

“You miss her.”

“Oh yeah. She’d kick my ass for some of the shit I’ve done, but she yelled at Connor and Duncan for trying to protect her. I’ll never forget the looks on their faces. Connor especially was completely amused by her temper, as if he liked women with sass and fire. Before that, I thought women like that got slapped if they spoke up.”

“You had some bad role models growing up, then.”

Richie shrugged. “Yeah. Now I can’t imagine wanting someone who wouldn’t ask you what the hell you were doing bringing home a teenager who tried to rob you. Tessa told Mac I wasn’t some cute stray cat, I was a person, and I’d clearly made my choices in life. Then she turned to me and told me I was cute and if I listened to her instead of the stupid men in the room, she’d keep me.”

Matthew smothered a laugh. “She sounds like she was an impressive woman.”

“She was,” Richie said, staring at the sharks that swam by before looking at Matthew. “And she was insanely jealous of Amanda. At the time, I wasn’t sure, but Amanda later confirmed it for me.”

“Wait, you met Amanda before you were one of us?”

“Oh yeah. She got me into so, so much trouble.” Richie tried for an irritated tone but couldn’t manage it. “Tessa yelled at me for being swayed by a pretty woman, then yelled at Mac for not mentioning Amanda was part of the circus we’d come to see.” He chuckled ruefully. “It’s part of why I went to Amanda when I did – I knew she was in town, and I could trust her to be honest with her assessment of the situation, since by then I’d known her for several years at that point.”

“When did you meet Cory?”

“Couple years after I’d met Amanda the first time. She failed to mention who he was and made it seem like he kidnapped her, but you can’t kidnap the willing. Which reminds me, I need to pay him back for waking me up on my birthday.”

“Plan your revenge some other time,” Matthew advised. “I’d like to not be a party to whatever you’re planning.”

“What, you’re not going to help me?” Richie turned to him, indignant.

Matthew started to protest, only to be brought up short by Richie’s chuckle.

“It’s okay, Matthew. I totally understand why you wouldn’t.”

Matthew broke into a grin. “We’ll have to discuss your reasons and methods in a less public place if you ever wanted to involve me.”

Richie returned his grin. “Noted for future reference.”

“Seen enough in here?”

“Yeah. I could get lost staring at the sharks in this tank, but I want to check out the rest of the exhibits.”

After the aquarium, they got lunch at a nearby seafood restaurant. Conversation over what to eat led to comparing notes on where they’d first had fine seafood and the best seafood dishes they’d ever eaten. They were in the parking garage, midway up the stairs to the fourth floor where Matthew had parked his car when the distinct clarion warning of another immortal seared across their senses.

Richie glanced at Matthew. “How do you want to handle this?”

“Keep going,” Matthew advised. “We need to get out of this stairwell.”

Richie nodded agreement and quickly ascended the remaining stairs to where Matthew had left his sedan. “And then?”

“And then we get out of here,” Matthew said reasonably. “I don’t care to know what they want with us, do you?”

Richie shook his head. “No.”

They managed to get to Matthew’s car, but not before the sense of another immortal rolled through them.

“Headhunters,” Matthew said grimly. “Get in and strap in; this is going to be rough.”

Richie hastily got into the sedan and put on his seatbelt as Matthew did the same, starting up the car. Matthew then navigated through the garage at a high speed, managing not to wreck thanks to excellent reflexes and training. An unfamiliar immortal started to run after them, only to give up when he realized Matthew was going too fast for him to catch up.

“How good are you at picking out one of us?” Richie asked as he checked their mirrors for a tail.

“I usually can tell individual people,” Matthew told him as he looped around the block, took a left turn, and zig-zagged a path through the area around the aquarium. “Right now, we have two people in a dark blue GMC Suburban following us.”

“Got it. Love being around someone old and powerful enough to be able to sense that distinction. You know, a really large SUV is not the way to be inconspicuous,” Richie said, twisting in his seat to see if he could get a license plate. “Especially if you have Colorado plates. The one with the creased front bumper?”

Matthew glanced in his rearview mirror. “Yeah, that one.”

“You aiming to get them somewhere we can fight or just to lose them?”

“Lose them,” Matthew said. “I don’t want to kill anyone today. You?”

“Yeah, not my idea of a good time, especially today. But I know how we can lose them.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Call 911; they’re driving aggressively enough that they’re running yellow lights. And isn’t tailing you a federal offense?”

“No, but if I call it in, I’m obligated to stay near the scene, and I’d rather not go there.”

“Got it,” Richie said. “Oh, hey, if you get through this light, they’ll be trapped.”

Matthew accelerated, making it through the light. The SUV didn’t, and Matthew took advantage of that to ensure their pursuers did not follow by going out of his way to loop around and through the city until the only other immortal within a car’s length nearby he could sense was Richie.

“Pull into a large parking lot, don’t go home just yet,” Richie suggested. “I want to check your car for any trackers.”

“You really think they were smart enough to do that?”

“Do you want to take the chance?” Richie countered.

Conceding his point, Matthew pulled into the first open parking lot he found, which was for a drugstore. It didn’t take long for Richie to find the tracker, which was a magnetic USB device that had been stuck to the undercarriage of the car.

“They were watching to see which car we got out of,” Matthew surmised sourly. “And the pursuit was mostly to see where we went.”

Richie nodded. “Someone stuck a similar device on one of Nick’s cars in Paris, hoping that if he drove it, they’d be able to hunt him. Range on these things tends to be variable, so if they were following us, they could track us down to a general vicinity. If they had managed to plug one into your car’s master computer, they could track you down with an app, but they would had to have broken into your car to do it.”

“Great,” Matthew said sarcastically. “At least they didn’t do that. How do you suggest we get rid of it?”

“Could gift it to someone else,” Richie suggested, “but then that could mean trouble for them. I vote we find a magnetic surface in the store to stick it to – say, in one of the freezers.”

“I like how you think,” Matthew said, “but let’s just run this over and put the pieces in the trash instead. We’re far enough away from my house that I feel comfortable making this the last spot they can track us to, and this isn’t a drugstore I patronize. Do you?”

Richie shook his head. “No. To be honest, I’m not sure where we are. Right now, all I’m sure is that we’re somewhere on the northeastern edge of the city; I have no idea how to get back to your house from here. All right. Let me just set this close to your tire so it’ll hopefully crumble in one go and not ruin your tire.”

The USB device shattered with a resounding crunch when Matthew drove over it. He then backed up and, with Richie’s help, picked up the pieces and tossed them in the trash can that sat by the front door of the drugstore.

That task accomplished, Matthew said, “Let’s check the car once more, just to be sure we got all of them.”

Another check found no other devices. Assured, Matthew then drove home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, I'm going there.... ;-) Feedback adored!


	12. Chapter 12

Once home, Richie turned to Matthew and asked, “Are you going to hunt them down?”

“Based on what information?” Matthew countered. “And to what end?”

Startled, Richie studied him. “What about the Game?”

“What about it?” Matthew pulled off his trench coat, taking the time to take his sword out of its sheath before hanging his coat up on the peg in the mudroom.

“You don’t think those guys are a threat that needs to be eliminated?” Richie was incredulous. “They put a tracker on your car, Matthew. If I didn’t think of that happening, you would’ve driven home.”

“At which point, they would be on my doorstep,” Matthew replied evenly, “and I would deal with them then. Since they aren’t, and I only was able to make out a partial license plate, the best I can do is do a search on the partial plate and see where it leads.” He held up a hand, forestalling the protest he could see forming. “And I can tell you right now that if they were smart enough to put a tracker on my car, they probably stole the plate off another vehicle, and the SUV itself is likely stolen. I’m not about to spend more time hunting them when I’m not sure they were targeting me or you or if we happened to win their random immortal target lottery.”

Richie sighed heavily and pulled off his jacket, hanging it beside Matthew’s. He removed his rapier from the crossbody sheath that had concealed it. “You’re gambling it’s the latter.”

Matthew nodded as he moved into the main room of the first floor. “Does it bother you that I’m not doing more?”

“Part of me – the part that learned from Mac – says yes,” Richie said as he followed Matthew. “The other part – the part that’s spent the last two decades trying to live peacefully – says no. I’m trying to reconcile both of those impulses right now.”

“Trust me, Richie, if I had more to go on that a gut feeling we were just in the wrong place at the right time for them, I’d do more. I don’t like headhunters for the same reason I don’t like serial killers: they don’t belong in a civilized society, and they prey on others. Aside from that: chasing after every immortal who challenges me is a good way to develop a reputation for taking heads.” He studied Richie, realizing abruptly that as a student of a Highlander, Richie would have learned a vastly different way to play the Game than he had. “And because of your teacher, you learned to look at every headhunter as a potential threat.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. I take it you didn’t.”

“Not to the degree I suspect you did. If they’re threatening me or mine, then yes, they are a threat that needs to be addressed. Beyond that, I’d like to give them the benefit of my doubt. I’ve spent enough of my life being someone’s judge, jury, and executioner that I want to be sure of who I’m facing and why.”

Richie looked at his sword a moment before looking at Matthew. “I trust your judgement, but I’m probably going to not sleep well for a few days, wondering if they’ll come back around.”

Mindful of the swords they both still held, Matthew patted his shoulder. “Since we have these out, want to go up to the third floor and practice a bit? It might help reassure you, if nothing else.”

Richie smiled. “You’re on.”

* * *

_November 10_

“You’re not working?” Matthew exclaimed in surprise, seeing Richie at the dining room table, watching something on his tablet. Richie had spent the two weeks since the anniversary of his first death working every day of the week, picking up extra shifts since the pub was short-staffed. Matthew also knew that Richie had slept little in those two weeks, pulling twelve, sometimes sixteen-hour shifts, and Matthew had found Richie crashed out on the couch most mornings. 

“On a Saturday no less,” Richie grinned. “I’m off until Monday. My boss noticed I’d been there every day and decided I deserved a break. Are you working today?”

“No. We caught a break on one of the cases, so it’s being handled by the local FBI office rather than us.” Matthew studied the younger man, seeing exhaustion no amount of immortal healing could hide. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Too hungry,” Richie admitted. “There are days when I hate having a late-puberty-hitting nineteen-year-old’s metabolism. This is one of them. I made a breakfast casserole too if you’re hungry.”

“So that’s what I’m smelling,” Matthew commented, moving over to the kitchen where a glass pan sat on top of the stove. One square out of the pan had already been cut, indicating Richie had eaten a piece. “Do I need to reheat it?”

“Nuke it for about a minute and a half,” Richie suggested. He yawned and set what little was left of his sandwich down on the table. “Did you want to do anything today?”

Matthew cut a piece of the breakfast casserole, plated it, and stuck in the microwave to reheat before answering. “Depends on whether you’ll be awake for it.”

Richie yawned again. “How about we do a late dinner, hit up a dance club, maybe see if we can score?”

Matthew considered the idea as he waited for the microwave to finish. “You don’t need me for that.”

“No, but it’s nice to have a wingman,” Richie offered. “And in case you’ve been wondering – no, I haven’t had too many nightmares the last two weeks. I just was too tired to go all the way upstairs.”

“Ah,” Matthew said, but he was not entirely convinced. “Richie, if you need professional help, I’d be happy to pay for it if you don’t have health insurance.”

Richie shook his head. “It’s not that. I just forgot how exhausting working back-to-back shifts is.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow as he brought his plate to the table. “And I’m available if you need to talk.”

Richie bit his lip and looked away for a moment before he stated, “Even though you told me not to worry about those headhunters, I did anyway.”

“How badly do you want to find them?” Matthew wondered.

“Not badly enough that I want to go looking for them. That’s partly why I haven’t been sleeping – I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s okay not to go. If they want us badly enough, they’ll find us. I just –” he sighed heavily “–remember what it was like for me, when I thought I had to get them before they got me. Sometimes I drive myself crazy wanting to do things the way Mac did them instead of the way that leads to less blood on my hands.”

“If you were with Duncan, would he go looking?”

“Oh yeah. He tends to hold the notion that if someone’s headhunting, they’re on the side of evil and therefore should be eliminated. I tend not to think it’s as black and white as that.”

Matthew nodded. “I can see that, given your experience. Why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll go out later? We can’t live our lives as if we’re under siege all the time, Richie. It’s not a good way to live, for one, and for another, it’s not practical. At some point, you have to decide what’s acceptable risk.”

Richie rose and tossed the remainder of his sandwich in the trash. “Yeah. I tried the ‘don’t get involved with people, just keep moving’ thing for a while. It’s too lonely for me.” He looked at Matthew. “Learning to let go of shit is still one of the things I struggle with.”

The older immortal chuckled ruefully. “It’s occasionally been a problem for me too. Sleep well, and I’ll wake you in a few hours if you’re not up by then.”

“Thanks, Matthew.”

* * *

The club Richie chose was not the meat market Matthew expected, but a blues club with a live band. The music spilled out of the doorway, where a bouncer stood next to a staffer who sat on a stool, taking payments. Unlike most clubs, the volume was not so loud that conversation could not be held, but loud enough to be noticed.

“Somehow, I thought you’d be into rock more,” Matthew observed as they stood in line.

Richie chuckled. “I can be, but this is the kind of stuff that feels like home to me. Learned to tend bar in a club like this in Seacouver.”

Matthew paid their entrance fee, telling him, “You buy the first round, I’ve got this.”

They found a table near the middle of the club, which was set up with a dance floor in front of the band. The band’s talent had drawn out several people to dance, and the atmosphere in the club felt like a party. The couples dancing were a mix of same-and not-same sex, adding to Matthew’s impression that they had walked into a gay-friendly club.

“I like it,” Matthew told Richie, who beamed. “How come you’re not working here?”

Richie shook his head. “Wanted some place I could go to that wasn’t where I worked.”

A woman dressed in the club’s distinctive rainbow neon t-shirt and jeans stepped up. “Welcome to Rainbow Blues. What can I get you two tonight?”

Richie named one of the locally-brewed seasonal ales, which the club had on tap. After a glance at the beer menu, Matthew chose a dark ale, also locally brewed. At the suggestion of the server, they also ordered a basket of the club’s famous tater tots to share.

Scanning the club, Matthew noted the exits out of habit. They were not in the best place for an easy escape, but the advantage of being in the far left middle of the room was that they had a clear line of sight to the entrance and the band. Noting his frown, Richie asked, “Do you want to move somewhere else?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Nick, Amanda’s partner in Sanctuary, was a detective in Torago, so I recognize that look.”

Matthew chuckled ruefully. “If there was a place to move to, sure. But I don’t think we’re going to get there. So, what should I be looking for you?”

Richie grinned. “How good are you at spotting a tourist?”

“Oh, this could be fun,” Matthew mused as their server delivered their drinks. “But beyond that – any other preferences?” 

Richie took a sip of his beer before he answered. “I’m a sucker for vulnerability. See that guy over at the bar with the baseball cap? He’s wearing his heart on his sleeve right now, listening to the music.”

Amused, Matthew sipped his beer as he studied the crowd. “What about the woman at the table near the front door?”

“Taken,” Richie said after a moment. “There’s another glass on the table with her and a phone, so whoever she’s with is probably in the bathroom.”

Four hours later, Matthew was feeling the pleasant edge of having drunk enough to know he had gotten drunk, but he was sobering fast. Richie had left around 11:30, texting Matthew a single message: _Score!_

Wanting to listen to the band’s final set and sober up before calling it a night, Matthew had stayed. It was now almost 1 AM; last call would be in an hour, and Matthew wanted to be home before then, so he could get some sleep before church service. He closed out his tab, adding a generous tip, and started to rise.

Immortal presence, identifiable as Richie in Matthew’s head thanks to the weeks of proximity, flashed a warning as Richie entered the club. He approached Matthew’s table, grinning and looking very satisfied.

“Decided against staying for breakfast?” Matthew teased as he put on his coat.

“Eh, he has an early flight back,” Richie shrugged. “You want to head home?”

“Sure.”

Matthew had parked his car in a nearby parking garage, which was open late to accommodate the restaurant and pub crowd. The parking garage, which occupied a half city block, sat across from a construction site, part of which was an open parking lot. As they walked the short distance from the blues club to the parking garage, the warning claxon of another immortal nearby sounded.

Richie glanced at Matthew, who paused and narrowed his eyes. “Same ones as before?” Richie asked.

“Possibly,” Matthew said and continued walking forward. Richie followed, taking his cue from Matthew, who had yet to draw his sword. “But there are definitely two of them.”

“Got it.”

The first of the two strange immortals appeared around the corner from the other end of the parking garage. Matthew saw the strange immortal walk briskly in their direction. As the distance between them narrowed, Matthew was able to see that the stranger was shorter than either him or Richie, with a build that made Matthew think of an Olympic super-heavy-weight-class weight lifter. The stranger wore a green hip-length coat that did nothing to flatter his pale skin. His trucker flannel shirt and its companion white undershirt strained to cover his stomach, and his navy canvas pants were tucked into worn work boots. The military-issue saber he held looked sharp, and he held it confidently.

“He looks like a bullfrog wearing plaid,” Richie whispered as they came to a stop, waiting to see what the other immortal would do.

Matthew smothered a laugh at the accurate but unflattering description. To the stranger, he announced, “We’ve no quarrel with you today.”

“And the South will rise again,” the stranger sneered. His accent placed his origin squarely in New York. “There can only be one, or are you so inbred you haven’t heard that one yet?”

Richie looked at Matthew. “And here I thought everyone knew immortals can’t have kids. Look, whoever you are, go find some other idiot to kill if you really want to play the Game. We’re not interested.”

“Not interested?” Taken aback by that, the stranger looked astonished. “How can you not be interested?”

“Easy,” Matthew replied. “It’s called ‘wanting to live longer.’”

The stranger frowned, then charged them. Richie’s rapier stopped him. “Go away,” Richie told him as Matthew stepped back to give him room to fight. “As a friend of mine once told me, live, grow stronger, fight another day. The Game will be here tomorrow and the day after that. What’s the use of living forever if you don’t live? I don’t want your head and neither does my friend.”

“Tough, because I want yours, and when you’re dead, I’ll take your buddy’s.”

“Good luck with that plan,” Richie told him.

The stranger laughed and stepped back. “You think I’m going to give up with words like that? Last I heard, you were no coward, Richie Ryan. Or are you with a new, peace-teaching teacher? That why you’re hanging around this dude here, whoever the fuck he is?”

Richie laughed. “And who are you, and who did you bring with you that you can’t fight alone, hmm?”

“I’m Basil Cockrell and my teacher’s Edmund Poisson, and he’s the best,” Basil boasted, nodding to the other end of the street.

Richie didn’t turn, but Matthew did, wanting to see who Edmund Poisson was. Edmund turned out to be a reed-thin man. In the streetlights, Matthew could see that a scar bisected the other man’s face, as if someone had sliced it diagonally. Edmund wore a chain mail hooded vest over a Renaissance-style shirt and black pants, as if he was trying to emulate a swordsman from history. He carried a classic falchion as he stepped closer, as if trying to trap Matthew and Richie.

Matthew smiled thinly. The chain mail hooded vest looked cool, but it left the wearer’s chest completely exposed. The weight of the hood creased Edmund’s head and made his shoulders sag, and already, Matthew could see where Edmund was sweating from the weight.

“Who are you?” Edmund demanded, stopping short of lunging distance.

“Your death,” Matthew replied. “Like Richie tried to tell your student – we don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, yes, we do,” Edmund said. “You must be new. There can only be one, or hasn’t Richie mentioned that?”

Matthew laughed. “I’m not his student.” Unwilling to discuss the matter further, certain Edmund would not surrender, Matthew struck. Caught off guard, Edmund scrambled for footing, for defense. Behind him, Matthew heard Richie begin to fight. Ignoring the sound, Matthew kept advancing, targeting Edmund’s weak points as he tried to ensure he and Richie were far enough apart to avoid getting tangled in Quickenings. Once they were far enough down the block, Edmund struck. Matthew countered, and soon the battle was on. Edmund was a middle-range fighter, accustomed to fighting someone else, but he was no match for Matthew’s advanced skill and experience.

“Who the fuck are you?” Edmund demanded as he fell to his knees.

“Someone who learned to wear proper armor, not cheap replica shit,” Matthew told him, and killed him. He turned to see how Richie was doing, wanting to be sure Richie was clear before he took Edmund’s head. It took him a moment to see that Richie had managed to take his fight across the street, to the empty parking lot. Satisfied Richie was far enough away, Matthew pulled the cheap chain mail off Edmund’s head and then took his Quickening.

Meanwhile, Richie taunted Basil. “You sure you’re that good? So far all we’ve managed is to get across the street. You want my head? You think you’re good enough for that?”

With an animal cry, Basil charged, only to be blocked again by Richie. Frustrated, Basil tried another tactic, but Richie countered it easily. Richie’s eyes narrowed as he realized Basil’s training was rudimentary, and every parry and block Richie performed came as a shock to Basil. Deciding it didn’t matter, Richie let him get close, then stabbed him with his dagger. Shock crossed Basil’s face as he grasped the dagger, trying to pull it out, gasping as the pain registered. Richie did not hesitate but took Basil’s head while he tried to draw breath. The Quickening hit was brief. Basil had not been immortal long, and this fight had been staged for his benefit, in hopes of getting a jump on the Game.

Richie grimaced as he settled the Quickening firmly in place, then looked to see how Matthew was doing. He saw Matthew take Edmund’s head, and waited until the lightning show was over before running over to see how Matthew was.

“You okay?” Richie asked.

Matthew nodded. “You?”

“Edmund thought using a Renaissance-themed video game would be sufficient training for Basil,” Richie sneered. “Basil had no idea how the shock of a parry or strike would actually feel like.”

“Edmund was a part-time Renaissance reenactor, more interested in looks than skill or technique,” Matthew told Richie. “He killed his teacher when his teacher tried to convince him to train more, be more diligent and serious about fighting.” He shook his head. “Help me move these corpses to the trunk and let’s get out of here.”

Nodding, Richie took the white evidence gloves Matthew handed him – stashed in his pocket out of habit – and helped Matthew move the bodies. Matthew then drove to a long-abandoned cemetery, where he dumped the bodies, covering them quickly with Richie’s help and the shovel he kept in the trunk.

As they drove back home, Richie asked, “Did you see any cameras on the parking garage?”

“Cameras on the garage were pointed inward,” Matthew said. “Did you see any on the construction site?”

Richie shook his head. “No, but if it’s like most sites I’ve worked, the cameras would be on the site itself, making sure they could identify anyone stealing materials from the site. Info would be stored offsite, but if we’re lucky, the sidewalk isn’t covered. Damn it. Wasn’t thinking about video surveillance.”

“Let me call a friend of mine when we get home,” Matthew told him. “She’ll check for us and erase it if necessary.”

Reassured by that, Richie closed his eyes briefly. “Sounds like a good friend to know.”

Matthew grinned briefly. “Vickie is a treasure. I should introduce you; you’ll like her. She was one of the human computers who worked for NASA in the early days of the space program. She taught me to appreciate what computers could do, although I wasn’t sure they would ever get small and powerful enough to be commonplace.”

“I’d like that,” Richie agreed. “Is she one of your students?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so,” Richie murmured, sounding unsurprised. He glanced at Matthew. “Do you need me to do anything for you once we get home?”

“I’m good, but if you want to crack open the bottle of whiskey I have stashed in the pantry to help anesthetize the leftover energy, feel free.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.” Richie was silent for a few minutes more before saying, “And Matthew? Thanks for trusting I could handle Basil on my own.”

“You’re welcome.”


	13. Chapter 13

Matthew returned from church service the next morning to find Richie sitting at the picnic table Matthew had set up on the patio. His sword lay on the table, gleaming in the autumn sunlight, likely due to being cleaned and sharpened after the events of the previous night. Richie's duffel bag sat at his feet, and dread filled Matthew. His back was to the alley that ran behind the row of houses on that street.

Richie said conversationally, “I thought about leaving you a note, but then I realized I didn’t know if you wanted me gone.”

“Why would I want you gone?”

“The headhunters last night recognized me. I’m a danger to you.” Richie looked at him expectantly.

Matthew frowned. “How is that different from Friday night or the day before that? Richie, you don’t have to leave just because we had to play the Game last night. I may not be reputed like you are for playing it, but I’ve put some of the worst of our kind in prison for life. Eventually, the odds are they’ll come hunting for me, and given the speed of information in this age, I don’t doubt they’ll find me. Combined with the randomness of any headhunter refusing to back down from a challenge, I’m just as much a target as you are. How will you leaving lessen that risk?”

Richie sighed heavily, his face reflecting his wavering conviction. “It’s what I’ve been trying to figure out, and part of why I’m still here.”

“Richie, I don’t see your presence in my life as an added risk. I’ve enjoyed your friendship. You’ve made me remember why the hell being a workaholic is not healthy, why I shouldn’t slack off on training, and why eating alone sucks.”

Richie grinned briefly.

“I get that sometimes, post-Quickening, you wonder if the people around you wouldn’t be safer,” Matthew said, taking a seat on the bench opposite Richie, “but choosing to be alone rather than risk others is not something most people can handle. It takes someone who can’t stand other people for it to even be manageable – and even then, you still are reliant on civilization for certain things. I couldn’t do it – and I’ve tried, trust me.” He studied the younger immortal, seeing wariness in the way he held himself, as if he expected a lecture on how to avoid being a target for headhunters. “And for the record, Richie, I was overdue for someone to challenge me. I could’ve had Ceirdwyn or Cory or both with me, and those two would’ve still come calling. Thanks to you, I avoided bringing them to this house.”

Drawing in a breath, Richie let it out slowly. “Part of me keeps expecting you’ll tell me I’m too much trouble.”

“You’re not Cory,” Matthew replied immediately. “And even he knows by now my definition of his ‘too much trouble’ has to top his multistate escapade back in the 1920s, when he and Amanda convinced Duncan to be bank robbers. They’d get caught, shot dead, and the deal was that Duncan would dig them up, and move on to the next bank. I thought for sure someone would figure out they were immortal, but no one ever did. By the time I caught up to them, Duncan was long gone, and someone buried both Cory and Amanda in a locked mausoleum in hopes of ‘containing the evil spirits that possessed them.’”

“Yeah, Mac told me his side of that story,” Richie noted. “He even got me to help him blow up Cory – which I later realized was a mistake. We used way too much explosive, and I shouldn’t have let Mac convince me to extract vengeance over my wounded pride.” He shook his head at that memory. “I apologized to Cory later, but he said it was only fair; Amanda egged him on and he should’ve asked more questions of her then.”

“You see my point, though,” Matthew clarified.

“Given my luck, there’s a chance I can prove your theory wrong,” Richie countered. He took another breath. “But if you give me six months, let me stay here, see if I can build a cushion again – I’m willing to make that gamble.”

“Stay as long as you want; no one is clamoring to use my guest room. Or are you thinking maybe in six months, you’ll want to have a place where you don’t have to explain you’re living with your landlord?”

Richie looked away briefly. “Maybe. I don’t know yet. Just…” he sighed. “Would like to get to a point in my life when I’m not renting a room from a friend and have a place I can say, ‘yes, this is my place.’ I mean, I’m forty-four; shouldn’t I have more to show for it?”

“Depends,” Matthew said. “I didn’t own land until I was well into my second century. I’ve had a farm burn in a fire, and I’ve had to abandon property because I died publicly. Age shouldn’t be a barometer for success.”

Richie sighed heavily. “Maybe it seems crazy, but I’d like to take a space, turn into a home for me, and take the time to make it mine. Like what you did here.”

“Putting down roots here?”

“I like it here,” Richie said. “It’s like Seacouver only with more history and less headhunters.”

“No grand desire to go back to Paris?”

A brief smile lit Richie’s face. “To visit, sure. To live again –” He shook his head. “Not for a few years at least. I was fighting or negotiating challenges every time I stepped off Sanctuary’s property, and I’m still processing how insane that was. I thought going back to Seacouver would help, but it only reinforced that sense someone wanted my head because of my connection to the Highlanders.”

“That’s never going away completely,” Matthew noted. “Not as long as people remember you were their student and Duncan was your first teacher. You haven’t been claiming them in a while, am I correct?”

Richie nodded. “Nobody believes me when I say Amanda taught me things I didn’t know about being an immortal, or that learning from her gave me the confidence I needed to approach Connor and ask him to teach me. I’ve learned to just ask why the hell it matters. I’m not a clone of either Mac or Connor.”

Matthew smiled. “All the more reason to stay put. Nobody will associate you with either Mac or Amanda if you’re nowhere near them.”

“True.”

“If you stayed,” Matthew ventured, “what would you want to do besides earn enough money towards a down payment on a home?”

“Take the time, like I did in Paris when I was working at Sanctuary, to live, not just play the Game,” Richie told him. “Besides missing living in the States, I fell in love with someone there. It didn’t work out, but –” he sighed now, “it made me think about what I wanted in my life. Getting kidnapped and losing money I couldn’t afford to lose just set me back on, well, my plan for everything. And then taking a head last night – all I could think about when you left for church was how I should go before I fucked up something.”

“Did Duncan make you feel like what happened was your fault?”

“My bad luck and bad choices.”

Matthew shook his head. “I highly doubt that. You trusted people, and stuff happened because of that trust: the actions those other people took, the decisions they made. You can’t hold yourself responsible for that. How much of what you know about how to live as immortal is something you had to learn the hard way or someone other than Duncan told you?”

“A lot. I mean, I don’t want to say he was a bad teacher; he wasn’t, because I knew how to fight before he let me go, but there was stuff he never mentioned. Like I thought for a long time I’d never be able to tell if I was sensing one immortal or two or if it was someone I knew. Guess he was afraid I might go hunting just to gain that ability.”

Matthew nodded. “I’m not Duncan, Richie, but had you left with only a note for goodbye, your leaving would have upset and hurt me, because I believe us to be friends. I suspect you won’t admit it, but I can surmise you’re still processing everything that’s happened to you in the last few months. You don’t have to go anywhere. I enjoy having you living here, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. If I can give you a safe, welcoming home and a stable friendship not based on a student-teacher relationship, and it helps you feel more secure of your place in this city, then I want to do that for you. You’ve been through too damn much to keep picking up and starting over; that’s a good way to find yourself homeless, alone, and desperate.”

“Yeah, I found that out the hard way.” Richie closed his eyes briefly. “Thanks.” He looked at Matthew. “Think you can tolerate a housemate for another six months?”

Matthew chuckled. “Oh, no, a housemate who cooks, cleans, is a good friend, and can handle himself in swordfight? I can’t have that in my life. What will the neighbors think?”

Richie stared at him for a full minute before bursting into laughter. “Point taken, Matthew, but for that, you’re paying for dinner.” Richie picked up his sword and duffel and headed inside.

Chuckling, Matthew asked, “Pizza okay or did you want something else?” Amused, he followed Richie into the house, pulling the sliding glass door shut behind him. Time would prove whether his friendship with the other immortal was something to regret – but given their history so far, Matthew was convinced this was one relationship he would treasure and protect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading, kudo'ing, and commenting!
> 
> Feedback is always welcome - even when the story is "old."

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~I rarely don't finish something I start posting, so please subscribe!~~  
>  Feedback welcome - comments, constructive criticism, kudos, keyboard smashes, and suggestions on where this goes from here gladly taken.
> 
> I'm Raine on Dreamwidth & Pillowfort if you want to follow me there.


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